A Face in the Clouds
by Roving Otter
Summary: Shikamaru has always avoided getting involved in other people’s problems. Then he meets an abused runaway named Gaara, and an unlikely friendship is born. AU, shounen ai.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Trying something a little different. Rated for language and drug references. Might be some sexual content in later chapters.

* * *

_I'm Nobody! Who are you?_

_Are you--Nobody--too?_

_-Emily Dickinson _

* * *

"Who are you, anyway?"

Shikamaru spoke the words aloud to his bathroom mirror. His reflection answered with a bored stare.

Did he really expect an answer? It wasn't _him _in the mirror. Just rays of light bouncing off a medium. What was Shikamaru, anyway? The cells that made up his body? The chemicals forming thoughts and emotions in his brain? His soul, whatever the hell that was?

When people said _Tahiti _or _omelet _or _love _they meant something—some specific set of images, emotions, concepts, whatever. What did people mean when they said _Shikamaru?_

He took inventory of his features: narrow hazel eyes, sharp nose, thin lips, dark hair pulled back into a stiff, spiky ponytail. He wanted those features to tell him something, but they withheld their secrets. "What do you want?" he muttered, staring at the familiar-unfamiliar face. "I mean _really_ want? What's your purpose?"

After a moment, he turned away, annoyed by his reflection, annoyed by the questions he couldn't seem to stop asking. Normally he wasn't prone to this sort of morbid navel-gazing. But lately he'd been picking at these issues the way someone might pick at a scab—you knew you shouldn't, you knew it would just make it worse, but somehow you couldn't stop.

"Hey, Shikamaru! You ready?" called Chouji's voice.

"Just a sec." He splashed cold water on his face and dried it off with a towel. He glanced at his reflection again, then left the bathroom.

* * *

Shikamaru had the soul of a sloth and the brain of a NASA engineer. These two tenants of his body got along about as well as a cobra and mongoose sharing a small cage. And always, while he indulged his easy-going nature, he could hear the angry hornet-like buzz of restless neurons: _Use us, you lazy fuck!_

But using his intelligence would get him attention. And that would be troublesome.

According to the standardized IQ test he'd taken (the one time he'd actually made an effort, that was) his IQ was over 200. He was in the top one percent of the top one percent of the human population. If he'd tried, he could have breezed through high-school and college and into a lucrative but hideously stressful career designing nuclear reactors for the Man.

The thing was, he didn't try. He'd gotten C's throughout most of his school life and dropped out of high school in his junior year, over the strident protests of his mother. Schoolwork was a drag. Why bother? Not like he was planning to go to college, anyway.

He wasn't planning to _do_ much of anything, really. He was making enough money on his poker winnings to get by, so he saw no reason to alter his current lifestyle. Shikamaru's ideal afternoon consisted of getting stoned, ordering take-out pizza and watching Yo Gabba Gabba with Chouji. Then they'd jam for awhile. Or sometimes they'd go down to the field by the canal, where they'd sit and smoke and watch clouds while talking in run-on sentences about whatever floated through their heads.

Now, he and Chouji walked down the narrow gravel-covered path toward their cloud-watching field. Pearls of dew sparkled on the grass, birdsong filled the crisp air, and a thin, milky fog clung to the ground. The sky looked like a giant upturned pottery bowl, cool gray in the center, warm buttery gold around the rim, and glazed with early morning iridescence.

"Got the stuff?" Chouji asked.

"Right here." Shikamaru patted the baggie in his jacket pocket. "Got the munchies?"

Chouji held up a giant bag of barbeque-flavored chips. Later they'd probably want ramen and snack cakes washed down with copious orange soda. For now, this was enough.

Suddenly, Chouji stopped. "Someone's in our field."

Sure enough, there was someone laying in the grass—curled up in the grass, actually. Someone with red hair and pale, pale skin. He frowned. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know," said Shikamaru. "Let's go see."

They approached. Shikamaru crouched next to the shivering form and studied it.

It was a boy, maybe a year or two younger than himself—fifteen? Sixteen? He wore nothing but an oversized black t-shirt and green boxers. He was small—short, slender, kind of delicate-looking—and dark flesh ringed his eyes. The rings stood out like make-up against his paper-white skin, giving him a raccoonish look. Sweat dampened every visible inch of that skin, glistening in the pale morning light. His eyes were closed, and Shikamaru could see his eyeballs twitching beneath the thin veils of his lids.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Chouji uneasily. "Is he sick?"

"I don't know." Shikamaru stared. There were bruises on the kid's arms and legs; greenish-purple splotches. "But I think I recognize him. It's Gaara. Remember?"

"Yeah. I remember."

Gaara had been in the class below theirs. Shikamaru remembered seeing him sitting alone at lunch, sometimes picking at a bag of chips, sometimes staring blankly into space. He almost never spoke, and he had a reputation for being dangerously unstable. In Gaara's freshman year, few kids had tried bullying him because of his small size and goth clothes. Those kids had gone home with bloody heads; one nearly got his ear ripped off.

After that, most people avoided Gaara. People were scared of him. There'd been whispers that he was the sort of guy who might show up at school with a gun one day and start shooting.

Right now, though, he didn't look dangerous. He looked small and helpless. Vulnerable.

"Hey." Shikamaru touched his shoulder. "Hey, Gaara."

Gaara's eyes snapped open, and he jerked back, breathing hard. Shikamaru could see his pulse fluttering in his skinny throat.

Shikamaru held his hands up. "Take it easy. We don't bite."

Gaara sat up, his eyes huge in his pale face. "Stay away," Gaara said in a hoarse, trembling voice. He scooted backwards across the grass. "Don't come near me."

"Okay." Shikamaru hesitated. He seemed a bit unstable—but he was small enough that he probably didn't pose a threat. Gaara had lost weight since he'd last seen him, and he'd been skinny to begin with. He looked like he weighed all of ninety pounds. Or less. "What's the matter?"

Gaara pressed a hand to his face, covering one eye. He was shaking, breathing hard, almost hyperventilating. "I can't be near anyone." His tongue darted out to lick sweat from his upper lip. "I—I'm a bad person. I can only hurt people. So it's better if I don't go near anyone at all."

Shikamaru glanced at Chouji, who stood behind him, eyes wide. "Shika, this kid like…needs help. He needs a hospital or something…"

"No!" Gaara cried. He leaped to his feet, but his legs buckled, as if they were too weak to support him. He fell on his ass and crawled backwards through the dew-damp grass, panting.

"Woah, relax."

"Please, no," said Gaara. "No hospitals. I don't want to go back to a place like that. I'd rather die."

"Then we won't take you to a hospital," said Shikamaru, keeping his voice level and calm. He glanced at Chouji. "Buddy, can you do me a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you go get the car and drive up here?"

Chouji hesitated, but he didn't ask questions. He nodded, turned and ran across the field, in the direction of the apartment they shared.

"You should leave me," said Gaara, hugging himself. "It would be better for you if you left."

"I can't leave you like this."

Gaara squeezed his eyes shut. "Just—just go. Or I'll hurt you." His voice had gone soft and plaintive, like a child's. He wasn't making a threat, Shikamaru realized; it sounded more like a warning. "I don't want to hurt anyone else."

"You can't hurt me. You're almost too weak to move."

"You don't understand. There's a monster in me."

"There's no such thing as monsters."

"You're wrong," Gaara whispered. "There are monsters everywhere."

Shikamaru decided not to debate the point, for now; there were more urgent matters. "When's the last time you've eaten anything?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I can't sleep. I don't think I've slept for about four days. Things are all fuzzy." He pressed a hand to his forehead again. The corner of his eye twitched.

"Are you on anything? I mean like meth, or…"

"No. I just can't sleep. Not safe to sleep. Not at home."

"Do you _have_ a home? Do you live with your folks?"

"My dad," he murmured. "But I can't go back there. He'll kill me. Don't take me back there."

"I won't." Shikamaru inched closer. This time, Gaara didn't back away. "I just want to help, okay? How can I help you?"

"I don't know." Gaara looked away. His mouth trembled. "I don't think anyone can help me."

"Give me a chance." Gaara seemed marginally less scared now, at least. Keep him talking, thought Shikamaru. Maybe that would help him stay calm until Chouji got back with the car. "How did you get out here, anyway? You're not really dressed to be outside on a morning like this. You must be freezing."

Gaara didn't seem to hear him. He stared into space. "I just want it to end. I can't deal with people anymore. They hate me. I can feel it. They're afraid of me and they hate me."

"I don't hate you." It was the truth. He'd never had any feelings toward Gaara one way or the other. But somehow, he wanted to help him now. He knew the easiest thing—the smart thing, most people would say—would be to just call someone and hand him over to people who knew what they were doing. But somehow, he couldn't. Not when Gaara was so clearly terrified of the idea. And the truth was, Shikamaru had never quite trusted the system, or adults in general.

That meant, unfortunately, that he was going to have to take responsibility for this situation himself. It was troublesome, but the alternative was to abandon this person who so clearly needed help. And he wasn't prepared to do that.

So he crouched in the grass, motionless, as if Gaara were a wounded animal that might bite him if startled. He stared into those wide, wild eyes, straight into his dilated pupils. They were like two dark tunnels leading into Gaara's head, and Shikamaru had the strange feeling that if he looked long and deep enough, he'd reach him—reach the consciousness behind the walls of paranoia. "Trust me," he said.

Gaara stared back. After a moment, his soft voice broke the silence. "You don't hate me?"

"No. Why would I?" Shikamaru reached out a hand. "Come on. Let me help you."

Gaara inched closer. Slowly—very slowly—Gaara reached out. His hand was slender and pale, with chipped, fading black paint on the nails. He placed it in Shikamaru's, and Shikamaru's fingers curled around his. That small hand was burning hot, as if with a fever.

"It's okay," Shikamaru said.

The tension bled out of Gaara's body, but he did not so much relax as collapse. He fell against Shikamaru and went limp, head on his shoulder. Shikamaru slipped an arm around him to hold him up. "Can you stand?"

"Don't know," murmured Gaara. "Everything is spinning."

Because he didn't know what else to do, Shikamaru lifted the smaller boy into his arms, bridal style. Shikamaru wasn't exactly a bodybuilder—he rarely lifted anything heavier than a jug of milk—but it took almost no effort to pick up Gaara. He could feel the kid's heart fluttering in his chest like a trapped bird. "Jeez, you're a skinny little guy," he murmured.

"I don't eat much." Gaara's voice seemed to be coming from faraway. His eyes closed fully. "So tired…"

"Sleep a little, if you can. I'm just going to take you back to me and Chouji's apartment for now. You can rest and we can get some food in your stomach. After that...well, we'll see."

Just then, he heard the rumble of an engine, and a rust-splotched, tan Volvo pulled up. Shikamaru approached, carrying Gaara. He opened the back door, gently lay Gaara across the backseat, and draped a blanket over him. Gaara seemed to have drifted into that half-sleep state again; his eyes were mostly closed and fluttering restlessly. Tiny moans escaped his throat. Shikamaru lay a hand on his forehead. It was drenched with sweat.

Chouji, in the driver's seat, looked over one shoulder. "Is this really a good idea?"

"I don't know what else to do. I mean, we can't just leave him out in the middle of the field wearing nothing but a t-shirt and underwear. It's like forty-five degrees." Shikamaru got in the passenger-side seat and shut the door.

Chouji turned the car and drove along the gravel road, out to the main highway. He glanced over his shoulder at Gaara. "Do you know what's wrong with him? I mean, why he was freaking out like that?"

"He said he hadn't slept in four days, so that probably has a lot to do with it. But there's something else going on too. He says his dad will kill him if he goes back home. I don't know if he means it literally or not, but I'd rather not take the chance." He paused. "I'm sorry about this, Chouji. I'll figure something out, I promise. I just…"

"It's okay. He doesn't really seem dangerous. But what if he _is_ sick? I mean, even if he doesn't want to go to the hospital, wouldn't that be better for him?"

"You saw the look in his eyes when you said that. He's already scared out of his mind. I'm not going to force him to go to someplace that scares him even more. Maybe there's another place he can go. Relatives or something. We can ask him when he wakes up."

-To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

They arrived back at the apartment. Shikamaru carried Gaara up the stairs to his floor, hoping no one would see them. It would be a little awkward, trying to explain to some random stranger why he was carrying an unconscious, emaciated redhead clad in nothing but a shirt and boxers. Luckily, the hall was empty.

Chouji unlocked their door, and Shikamaru carried Gaara into his bedroom. He lay him down on the bed, pulled the covers over him, and glanced at Chouji. "We should let him rest."

Chouji nodded. He left the room, and Shikamaru was about to follow when a slurred, fuzzy voice said, "Wait."

Shikamaru turned. Gaara's eyes were half-closed, drowsy, his eyelids trembling as he struggled to hold them open. Shikamaru pulled a chair to the bedside, sat, and leaned forward, resting his folded arms on his knees. "Just relax. This is a safe place, I promise. There's only Chouji and I here, and we're harmless." He gave Gaara a small smile.

"What's your name?" Gaara asked.

"Shikamaru."

Gaara looked up at him, and Shikamaru looked back, into those strange, haunting teal eyes.

As a kid, he had gone to Hawaii with his family once. He remembered the startling brightness of the ocean, its depth and vastness, the way the colors seemed to shift with the light. Gaara's eyes were like that. So many shades of blue and green. Those eyes focused on him with an intensity that made him feel oddly self-conscious, as if he were pinned by a spotlight.

"Why did you help me?" Gaara asked.

"Well, I couldn't just leave you out there."

"You could have called the police and let them deal with me instead."

Shikamaru shrugged. "I don't really like dealing with cops. It's a drag. Besides, they probably would've sent you back to your dad, and I don't think you would've wanted that."

"But it would have been easier for you. So why didn't you? Why bring me here?"

Gaara's gaze never left his face. _Those eyes… _Shikamaru looked away and wondered why his heart was beating so fast. "I don't know." After a brief pause, he cleared his throat and said, "I should let you get some sleep."

"I can't sleep." His eyes lost focus. "Can't let down my guard. It's dangerous."

"There's nothing dangerous here. Believe me, I'm the last person you should be afraid of."

"It's…not that. I don't want to let the monster out."

What was all this about a monster? Did this kid honestly believe there was some demonic force lurking inside him? Shikamaru pushed the notion away. Gaara wasn't very clear-headed right now; after he slept awhile, maybe, he'd start making more sense. "It'll be okay. Nothing bad will happen. I promise."

His eyelids trembled and drooped. "I…"

"Close your eyes."

They slipped shut. The lids looked so thin and delicate, almost translucent, and his lashes were sparse; inadequate covering for those remarkable, ocean-colored eyes. His breathing slowed and evened, and the furrows smoothed from his brow.

Shikamaru waited a few minutes longer, then stood and left the room, easing the door shut behind him. He leaned against the wall and exhaled. "Jeez, what a weird way to start the morning."

"Is he asleep?" asked Chouji.

"Yeah." Shikamaru shrugged into his jacket. "I'm going to go to the store and get some food for him. He's really underweight. When I picked him up, it felt like he was made of straw."

"We have food here, don't we?"

"Just Ho Hos and orange soda. I want to get him something with nutrients. He probably needs them. You want anything?"

"Well…yeah, but if we're low on funds…"

"I won that tournament on Friday, remember? We're fine. You want some tacos?"

Chouji's eyes lit up, and he grinned.

Shikamaru chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes."

* * *

Gaara slept for twelve hours.

During that time, Shikamaru returned from the store, carrying several paper bags of groceries and a plastic sack of Taco Bell. He and Chouji ate tacos and watched a few episodes of Space Ghost, then napped in the living room. They woke around 8:00 at night and were playing Tetris when the bedroom door creaked open and Gaara stepped out.

He still wore his baggy t-shirt and boxers. His pale, thin arms and legs looked like sticks poking out of the loose clothes. He paused in the doorway, watching them. Before, his eyes had been as raw and open as bleeding wounds. Now they were flat, expressionless, and his face was blank. Shikamaru recognized that look. It was a look that said he was on guard, that he'd pushed his emotions somewhere deep down where they couldn't be reached. It was the same look Gaara had worn every day at school.

"Yo," said Shikamaru.

Chouji waved at him. "Want to play?" He held up his controller.

Gaara scrutinized it for a moment, as if wondering whether it was booby-trapped. Then he took the controller and sat on the couch.

"You know how to play Tetris, don't you?" asked Chouji.

"Yes." He pushed start.

Chouji watched him for a few minutes. "Hey, you're not bad. I wonder if you could beat Shikamaru's high score. I've never been able to do it."

As they played, Shikamaru stood and walked into the adjoining kitchen. "I'm going to make some soup." He opened the cabinet and looked over his shoulder at Gaara. "We've got chicken noodle and tomato. What would you like?"

Gaara paused. "Either."

Shikamaru opened the can of chicken noodle, dumped it into the pot on the stove and added water. He turned the heat up to medium and stirred the broth with a ladle.

There was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," Chouji said. "That's probably Ino. It sounds like her knock."

Shikamaru winced. "I'll bet you anything that she's crying when she opens that door."

Chouji gave him a Look. "Shika…"

He sighed. "Sorry."

Chouji opened the door, and Ino walked in, sniffling and dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Runny mascara streaked her cheeks. "Ino, are you okay?" Chouji asked, his voice soft with concern.

"H-hi, Chouji. I just…need to talk to someone. Can you come over to my place?"

Chouji lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Sure."

"Th-thank you. I'm sorry to just show up unannounced like this, but I—" Ino froze, looking at Gaara, who sat on the couch with the controller in his hands. Her eyes widened. Gaara stared back, his eyes shielded and cold.

Shikamaru realized just how bizarre this must look to her: a boy with a reputation for being a violent sociopath was in their apartment, in nothing but underwear and a t-shirt. He smirked. He didn't often get to see Ino speechless.

Chouji glanced at Gaara, then smiled at Ino. "Oh, uh—this is our friend Gaara."

"He's your friend?" she asked in a small voice.

"I'll explain on the way to your place." Chouji glanced at Shikamaru and said, "I'll be back later tonight."

"See you then."

Chouji and Ino walked out together, and the door shut behind them.

Shikamaru turned to Gaara. He'd dropped the controller and was curled up on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest. Shikamaru's smile faded. "You all right?"

Gaara didn't answer.

Shikamaru approached and sat next to him. He looked at the TV. "Want to try a different game? How 'bout Dr. Mario? If you like Tetris you'll probably like that." Silence. "Gaara?"

"I saw the fear in her eyes when she looked at me," Gaara said quietly. "Those are the same eyes I saw at school, day after day. She's afraid of me. Like everyone else."

"Ino? Eh, I wouldn't worry about what she thinks. I mean, she likes Sasuke, so she can't be a very good judge of character."

Gaara stared at the door. "Who is Sasuke?"

"Her boyfriend…sort of. By which I mean, he fucks her and then ignores her the rest of the time. Whenever she's feeling depressed about how he treats her, she goes to Chouji and cries on his shoulder. He's had a major crush on her since seventh grade, plus he's just a really nice guy, so it's easy for her to pull his heartstrings…despite the fact that he's not getting anything out of the relationship except wet shoulders. Chouji says they're friends, but they never seem to hang out when she's in a good mood. Just when she needs to prop up her self-esteem."

Gaara studied Shikamaru's face. "You don't like her."

"I don't like the way she's using my best friend. If she had an ounce of self-respect she'd dump that self-absorbed Uchiha douchebag and start dating someone who actually cares about her—like Chouji—but I don't think it'll happen."

Gaara made a noncommittal sound in his throat.

Shikamaru glanced at him. "You don't talk much."

"I guess I don't."

"That's fine. Usually the more people talk, the less they have to say." He smiled. "Of course, I've been yakking nonstop these past few minutes, so I guess that means I have nothing to say."

That won a faint—_very _faint—smile from Gaara. Little more than a twitch of his lips, but it was something.

"I should check the soup," said Shikamaru. "When's the last time you ate anything, anyway?"

"I don't know." Gaara lowered his gaze and picked at one of his nails. "Why are you doing all this for me?"

Shikamaru shrugged. "Why shouldn't I?"

Gaara's brow wrinkled in confusion, and he looked down at his hands again.

Shikamaru walked into the kitchen, ladled some soup into a bowl and handed it to Gaara, along with a spoon. "Here you go. Careful, it's hot."

Gaara lifted a spoonful of soup to his lips, blew away the steam, and sipped. He ate in silence for a minute, then coughed and pressed a hand to his mouth.

"What's wrong?"

"I feel a little sick."

"If you haven't been eating anything lately, your stomach's probably weak. Don't force yourself to finish it, but try to get down a few bites, at least."

Gaara nodded. While he ate, Shikamaru washed the pot and ladle, then sat on the couch a few feet away from Gaara. He waited while Gaara finished eating and set the bowl on the coffee table. Then he said, "You want to tell me how you got those bruises?"

Gaara tensed. He looked down at his arms and crossed them over his chest. "My dad."

"He beats you?"

"I deserve it."

"No you don't."

"You don't know what kind of person I am."

"No one deserves to be hurt like that." He paused. "Maybe I don't know you all that well. But you don't seem like a bad guy. I mean, you never hurt anyone at school unless they went after you first. People used to bully me, you know—me and Chouji both. I know what it feels like to deal with that shit day after day, how it can wear you down to the point where you just snap."

Gaara raised his eyes. They were still shielded, but there was something in them that hadn't been there a moment ago; a hint of curiosity, perhaps. "Why did people bully you?"

"Who knows? Do bullies even need a reason? I was kind of a scrawny kid, I guess. And too smart for my own good--this was before I learned to hide it. It pissed people off. I guess my point is, I might have some idea of what you went through and why you attacked those two guys. They'd been giving you shit for awhile, hadn't they?"

A small nod.

"So what makes you think you deserve to be hit?"

"That wasn't the first time I hurt someone." He stared into space. "A few years ago, there was this other boy who picked on me. Once he tried to hold my head underwater—in the toilet, I mean—and I got scared. I thought he was trying to drown me. I did something horrible to him. That's why I had to switch schools."

"What did you do?"

"If I tell you, you'll be afraid of me."

"Try me."

Gaara hesitated. "I broke two of his fingers and bit off a piece of his face. About this much." He formed a circle the size of a golf ball with his thumb and forefinger. "There was a lot of blood."

Shikamaru raised his eyebrows. He wondered if he _should _be more nervous, being alone here with Gaara. But somehow, he wasn't. Maybe because, as superficially different as they were, he and Gaara shared one commonality: they were outcasts. Shikamaru and Chouji had never really fit in, either. Of course, Shikamaru had always had at least a few friends. How much harder had it been for Gaara, who was always alone?

"There's a monster in me," said Gaara. "It comes out when people hurt me. It protects me, but I can't always control it. Sometimes I don't even remember what it's done afterward. Like that time…I just woke up to the sound of his screams and the taste of his blood in my mouth."

"What happened after that?" Shikamaru asked quietly.

"My dad took me out of school and sent me to an institution. They kept me drugged and locked up. I didn't like that place." He paused. "After awhile, they sent me back home. My dad moved and I started going to Konoha High, but then…it just happened again. I guess whatever is wrong with me can't be fixed."

"This only happens when people try to hurt you?"

Gaara nodded.

"Well, there's no reason I should be afraid of you, then. I'm not planning to hurt you."

Gaara looked at him uncertainly. "You don't think I'm crazy?"

"I think you're damaged. But then, aren't we all?" He shrugged. "Normality's just a matter of perspective, anyway." He eyed Gaara's oversized t-shirt. There was a hole in the chest, and pale skin showed through. "I should get you some real clothes. Those are a little rank. And, um…when's the last time you showered?"

"A few days ago."

"You can use the shower if you want. I'll find something for you to wear."

-To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

A short while later, Gaara walked out of the bathroom wearing Shikamaru's clothes—a pair of faded black jeans and a black, long-sleeved shirt with "Meh" on the front in white letters. His pale skin was still flushed and damp from the shower, and his bright red hair was slicked down and wet. The water had darkened it a few shades, so it looked like blood.

Shikamaru studied him. "The clothes are a little big on you, but I guess they'll be okay for now." Later, maybe, he could take Gaara to the store and find some that fit him a little better. Gaara probably had clothes back home, but Shikamaru doubted he wanted to go back and get them after what had happened.

"Thanks." Gaara stood, rubbing one arm, his gaze downcast as he studied his narrow, white feet. His toenails, like his fingernails, had been painted black, though most of the paint had worn off by now. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, then closed it and looked away. His shirt had slipped to one side, and one sharply protruding collarbone peeked out above the collar.

"So," said Shikamaru, "what am I going to do with you?"

Gaara raised his teal-colored eyes. "I'll leave if you want me to." His face remained empty of expression, his voice flat and emotionless.

"If you left, where would you go?"

"I don't know."

"Do you have anyone you could stay with? I know you don't want to go back to your dad, but do you have friends or other family, or…"

"I don't have any friends. I have a half-brother and half-sister, but I haven't seen them in years. I don't know where they are."

Shikamaru furrowed his brow. "You don't have any idea?"

"My dad won't tell me anything about them."

"Just who is your dad, anyway?"

Gaara's shoulders tensed. "I don't want to talk about him."

"Okay, but I need to know a few things. Like, is there any chance he's going to come around here looking for you?"

"No. He doesn't want me to come back. He doesn't want me around at all."

"How come?"

Gaara looked down and said nothing.

Shikamaru sighed. "I can't help you if you won't talk to me, Gaara."

"If you don't want me here, that's fine. I can't blame you."

"I'm not going to kick you out if you've got nowhere else to go."

"You don't owe me anything. I'm not your responsibility." Gaara met his gaze. "If you want me out of your hair, just say the word. Tell me to go, and I'll disappear."

Shikamaru hesitated. For a moment, he was tempted. Taking Gaara in had been out of character for him. Normally, Shikamaru did his best to keep out of other people's business, and in return, he expected them to keep out of his. He helped people in little ways when he could, but he never got involved in their problems.

Gaara hadn't asked to be helped, so why did Shikamaru feel so compelled to help him? He didn't know…but he _did _know that he couldn't just forget Gaara, even if he wanted. If Gaara left and vanished now, Shikamaru would be stuck wondering about him—where he was, if he was okay—and he couldn't think of a more troublesome way to live.

"Forget it," said Shikamaru. "I'm not going to abandon you. You're staying with us."

Gaara looked at him, his expression unreadable. "You…want me to stay?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Shikamaru shrugged. "Do I need a reason?"

"There's always a reason."

He hesitated. "Maybe I'm curious about you. You're very…shielded. Very closed off. I look in your eyes and I can't see past the surface. Maybe I want to know what's going on in here." Lightly, he touched the center of Gaara's forehead with one finger. "If you leave, then I'll never know."

Gaara's smooth, pale brow wrinkled. "You want to understand me?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

Gaara stared at him a moment longer. Emotions swam through the depths of those eyes, but Shikamaru couldn't quite read them. "I want to touch you," Gaara said quietly. "Can I touch you?"

Shikamaru's heart jumped into his throat. "Uh…like how do you mean?"

"Your face."

Well, that seemed harmless enough, if somewhat odd. "Sure. Go ahead."

Gaara took a step closer, standing almost toe-to-toe with him. Then, slowly, he raised one hand and touched Shikamaru's cheek with small, warm fingers—the lightest brush of skin against skin. Shikamaru gulped, holding perfectly still as Gaara's fingertips explored his forehead, his eyebrows, his nose. All the while, Gaara stared into his eyes with that focused intensity, and Shikamaru found he couldn't move. Gaara's fingers touched the corners of his mouth, then one finger pressed against his lower lip. Shikamaru felt heat creeping into his cheeks.

Then Gaara's finger slipped into his mouth.

Okay, this was getting weird. The weirdest thing, though, was that it didn't seem sexual; the look on Gaara's face was that of a child exploring something for the first time, seeking understanding through touch.

Maybe that was why Shikamaru didn't push him away. Instead, he stood motionless, heart thumping, as Gaara's finger touched his tongue—the inside of his cheek—then slipped out of his mouth, glistening with his saliva.

Shikamaru took a deep breath, trying to think of the proper words, if there even _were _proper words for a situation like this. He decided to just let it slide. "Gaara, you haven't really—I mean, you're not used to interacting with other people, are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, have you ever had a friend before?"

"No." He looked away. "Even when I was very young, other children were always afraid of me. They knew I was different. They felt it. I tried to make friends at first, but people ran from me. So I stopped trying."

"Oh."

"I can't figure out why you're different. Why you're not afraid of me." He raised his hand again, and those slim, pale fingers grazed Shikamaru's cheek. "Shikamaru," Gaara said slowly, as if trying out the name, feeling its heft.

They were standing very close, Shikamaru realized. Gaara's shoulder brushed against his. Then he withdrew abruptly, crossing his slender arms over his chest.

Shikamaru cleared his throat. His heart was still beating fast and hard, but not out of fear. He didn't know what exactly he was feeling. "Listen…I've got a tournament tomorrow. I need to get some sleep."

"Tournament?"

"Yeah. Poker tournament. Just a local one, nothing big. That's how I make most of my money."

"They pay you to play?"

"Well, you have to win to get money. But I usually do. I can teach you to play sometime if you like. It's really not difficult to learn. The game's like seventy percent psychology, really—being able to read people, to tell when they're bluffing, that sort of thing. I mean, there's still an element of chance involved, but if you really know what you're doing, you can win even if you've got a crappy hand. You've got a great poker-face, actually." He realized he was babbling, fell silent and cleared his throat again. He couldn't seem to meet Gaara's gaze. "I'm going to get ready for bed. You probably aren't tired after sleeping for so long, but you can watch TV if you like—or play video games, or read—whatever you want. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you get hungry again."

Gaara nodded, his gaze downcast. Shikamaru retreated into the bedroom, undressed, and slid beneath the covers.

* * *

Chouji arrived back at the apartment the next morning to find Gaara on the living room couch, wearing Shikamaru's clothes and playing with a Rubik's cube. He didn't seem to be trying to solve it; he was just twisting the colored squares around, a distant look on his face. As Chouji approached, he looked up.

Chouji looked around. "Where's Shikamaru?"

"He left already," said Gaara. "For his tournament. He said to tell you that there's some pancakes in the kitchen for you."

"Thanks." Chouji went into the kitchen, heated up the plate of pancakes, and drowned them in syrup. Shikamaru always made the best pancakes; moist, fluffy and perfectly golden brown. He washed the last bite down with a swig of milk, then returned to the living room, where Gaara was still fiddling with the Rubik's cube, and sat on the couch next to him.

Gaara froze. His shoulders tensed, and he looked up. "I don't have work 'til six," said Chouji, "so I'm just going to watch some TV 'til Shikamaru gets back. Or maybe a movie. Anything you want to see?"

Gaara lowered his gaze. "Not really." He stared at the cube for a moment, his hands motionless. "Shikamaru is your friend?"

"Yeah. We've been best friends since second grade."

"Then you love each other?" Gaara asked without looking up.

Chouji blinked, surprised. Then he smiled. "Sure. He's like a brother to me."

"I don't know my brother very well." Gaara let the cube fall from his hand, to the couch.

Chouji rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little awkward.

"I know you probably don't want me here," said Gaara. "In your apartment, I mean."

"No, it's okay. It's not really my apartment, anyway. Shikamaru pays the rent. I just chip in for food and utilities and stuff. I don't make a lot at my job, but Shikamaru's bright enough that he can find ways to make lots of money without ever really working. I don't know how he does it...I mean, he wins some of it, but still. He's probably the smartest person I've ever known. He took an IQ test once and he scored over two-hundred."

Gaara looked at him from the corner of his eye. "Is that unusual?"

"Oh yeah. Here, I'll show you." Chouji ripped a sheet of paper from a legal pad, pulled a pen from his pocket and drew a line across the middle of the paper. He made marks along the line, then numbered them. "Here's where most people are." He circled the middle. "Around ninety to a hundred. Only about one percent of people are around here…" He circled another mark. "One-forty or higher. And Shikamaru…" He made an X at the very end of the line. "Is out here."

Gaara stared at the paper for a moment. "It looks lonely out there."

Chouji studied the diagram. "Yeah. I guess it is. Most people don't know just how smart he is. He doesn't like getting a lot of attention, so he deliberately got average grades at school and on tests. Even his parents probably don't know his actual IQ."

"Just you?"

"Just me. I asked him to take the test for me because I was curious. Even _I_ didn't expect him to score that high. I can't imagine the sort of thoughts that must go on in his head. He could probably be designing super-computers or something if he wanted, but he just wants to be a regular guy. Pretty amazing, huh?"

Gaara ran his fingers across the paper and didn't respond.

"Hey, have you ever seen _Santa Claus Conquers the Martians?_"

"No."

"Oh, you should. I mean, it's really bad, but that's what makes it great. It's even better if you're stoned, but I probably shouldn't smoke anything, since I have to work this afternoon. You ever smoked pot?"

Gaara shook his head.

"We've got plenty, but if you're not into it that's cool too. No pressure. Anyway…" Chouji slid a tape into the VCR. "Shikamaru and I have seen this like twenty times." He sat on the couch next to Gaara as the opening credits rolled.

After a few minutes, Gaara said flatly, "This is a terrible movie."

"Yeah, I know," said Chouji. "Isn't it great?" He opened a bag of potato chips and rummaged through it. "Bad movies are the best."

Gaara stared at Chouji for a moment, his brow wrinkled in puzzlement. Then he returned his gaze to the screen, where Droppo—the laziest man on Mars—was being punished with a tickle ray.

* * *

Shikamaru returned around five, counting his winnings. He saw Chouji sitting on the couch, watching TV and munching chips. Shikamaru looked around. "Where's Gaara?"

"He went down to 7-11. We were getting low on Mountain Dew."

"Has he been…okay?"

"Hm? Oh, sure. I mean, he's kind of quiet and he doesn't seem to know how to relate to people—I think he might have Asperger's or something—but he's nice enough. How was the tournament?"

"Fine. Got three hundred bucks." He tossed the money into the coffee can on the table.

"You have enough to enter that international tournament yet?"

"Almost. Still thinking about whether I want to do that. I'd have to clean out my savings, but if I win _that, _or even get in second or third place, we'll be set for the next few years." He sat down on the couch next to Chouji. "How'd things go with Ino last night?"

Chouji looked up, smiling, and scratched his cheek with one finger. "She broke up with Sasuke."

Shikamaru raised his eyebrows. "No shit?"

"Yeah. She'd been thinking about it for some time. She finally mustered the courage to do it last night. You should have heard him. He was sputtering like an idiot. I don't think a girl's ever broken up with him before."

"Wait, you were there when she did it?"

"Sort of. She did it over the phone."

Shikamaru laughed aloud. "Man, I wish I'd been there."

"It gets better."

"Really?"

"Yeah." A flush rose into his cheeks. "I told her how I felt about her."

Shikamaru's eyebrows shot further up. "And?"

"And we're together now."

For a moment, Shikamaru couldn't respond. He stared, speechless. "Chouji, you—really?"

"Yup. We're going out on our first official date on Friday."

"That—that's awesome. Congratulations."

Chouji beamed, and his flush grew brighter. "I've never had a girlfriend before, so I might need some advice."

"Well, it's not like I have a ton of experience either. Just be yourself and you'll be fine." He smiled. "I guess Ino has better taste than I thought. I'm happy for you, man."

"Thanks." Chouji stood. "I'd better start getting ready for work. I have to be there in about forty minutes."

"Okay. Later, buddy."

* * *

After Chouji left, Shikamaru stretched out on the couch and stared at the ceiling fan, watching it spin around and around.

Chouji and Ino. Who'd have thought it? He'd be much better for her than Sasuke, that was for sure. Shikamaru just hoped she'd treat him right.

He _was _happy for Chouji. But a small, dark part of him was…not jealous, exactly. It wasn't like he wanted Ino for himself—she really wasn't his type at all. It was more a feeling of being left out. Left behind. He and Chouji had been single together for most of their lives. True, Shikamaru had had a few girlfriends back in high school, but nothing serious. At some point, relationships always became more troublesome than they were worth. It'd go okay for the first few weeks—then the drama would start. The girl would accuse him of being lazy (which he never denied), or get on his case for wanting to eat at Taco Bell instead of taking her to a "real restaurant" every time they hung out...and eventually she'd break up with him, or they'd just drift apart.

He'd never had much interest in sex anyway. Oh, he liked looking at cute girls and he jerked off when the urge struck him, but he'd never been obsessed with getting laid. He figured it would happen when it would happen, and if it didn't—well, it wasn't the end of the world.

Sometimes at school, he'd heard the jock-types bragging to each other about the kinkiest thing they'd ever done to a girl or the hottest chick they'd banged—how they'd done so-and-so up the ass or shot their load all over what's-her-name's face, or whatever. Many of their brags were obvious lies, but no one called them on it, because then of course no one would pretend to believe _their _bullshit. The whole thing made Shikamaru sick. For most boys, it seemed, sex was all about ego gratification and looking like a big stud, which made their endless quest for pussy seem hollow and dull.

And as for love…well, Shikamaru had never fallen in love. Never even had a strong crush on someone, really. In most of his brief "relationships," the girls had been the ones who initiated everything.

Chouji, on the other hand, was crazy about Ino, and he'd felt that way for years. Of course, she'd never given him the time of day. But now…

Shikamaru shook his head sharply, banishing the thoughts. Just because Chouji had a girlfriend now, that didn't mean he was going to suddenly stop being Shikamaru's best buddy. Nothing was going to change. He wasn't going to be abandoned. Right?

After a few more minutes of staring at the ceiling fan, he realized that Gaara still wasn't back yet. What was going on? The convenience store was only a block away. Even if he'd walked there, the trip shouldn't take more than ten minutes.

Shikamaru stood, put on his jacket and left the apartment.

-To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

_Gaara is remembering._

_In his mind, it is summer, and he sits on the faded corduroy couch in his Uncle Yashamaru's apartment, hugging his knees to his chest. He is seven years old--he will be eight in a month, but this doesn't matter much to him. He never has birthday parties. The air conditioning is broken again and his t-shirt sticks to his sweat-damp skin as Yashamaru leans down, examining a cut on his cheek. "How did you get this?" he asks quietly._

"_I fell," Gaara murmurs, eyes downcast._

"_Have the other children been bullying you again?"_

_Gaara doesn't answer, but his eyes well up with tears._

_"You know, you should tell your father about this. He can speak to the teacher and put a stop to it."_

_"It's okay," Gaara says. He knows from experience that telling only makes things worse, makes his tormentors that much angrier and more determined to break him. "It really isn't a big deal. Someone pushed me down, that's all. I...I don't want to be a snitch. And my father...he doesn't like it when I come to him with problems. He always says he has enough problems and he doesn't need more."_

_"I'm sorry. But you know you can always talk to me." Yashamaru dabs disinfectant onto the cut, and Gaara flinches. "Shh. It will only sting a moment." He tapes a small bandage over the cut, then smiles. "There. Good as new."_

_Gaara smiles back._

"_Gaara, do you like me?"_

_He nods. "You're the only person who's nice to me. I like you a lot."_

_"I'm glad to hear that. Because I like you too. I like you very, very much." Something has changed in his face. He is still smiling, but there's something in his eyes that makes Gaara uneasy. He looks hungry, like he's a dragon who wants to gobble Gaara up. But that's silly, surely. This is Yashamaru, and Yashamaru would never hurt him._

_"Do you want to try something?" He lays a hand on Gaara's leg._

_"You mean like a game?"_

_"Yes. A new game."_

_He fidgets. "Can we just play something I know already?"_

_"This will be fun. I promise. You trust me, don't you?"_

_"Yes." Gaara bites his lower lip. "What is it?"_

_"Take off your shirt."_

* * *

Gray clouds rolled across the sky, and a breeze rustled Shikamaru's jacket as he walked down the sidewalk to the 7-11 on the corner. He saw Gaara sitting on the curb outside, head in his hands. "Gaara? Hey, Gaara." Shikamaru approached and crouched down next to him. "You all right?"

Gaara didn't look up, and Shikamaru realized he was shaking. "Hey…" He placed a hand on Gaara's thin shoulder. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he murmured.

"Are you sure?"

Gaara paused. "Chouji said he was going to the store, but…I told him I would do it. Both of you have been kind to me. I wanted to do something in return…even if it was just a small thing. So he gave me some money and I walked down to the store and…" His hands curled into fists. "I went in, but I couldn't find the thing he wanted me to get. I was going to ask the man at the counter, but I…I couldn't."

Shikamaru listened, puzzled. "How come?"

Gaara closed his eyes and whispered, "I was afraid. It's stupid, I know. But I was afraid to ask him anything."

"Why?"

Gaara pressed a hand to his face, covering one eye. "I don't know how to explain it. He looked like someone I used to know, and that brought back a lot of bad memories, and when he asked me if I needed anything I started shaking, and I just…I'm not used to talking to strangers. When I lived with my dad, he didn't like me to leave the house. He didn't even want me to go to school, really. He wanted to have someone tutor me at home. But I told him I wanted to."

"I thought you hated school."

"I do. But being trapped at home all day was worse." Gaara stared at the pavement.

"Why did he keep you cooped up like that?"

"I think he was embarrassed by me. He didn't want other people to find out he had such a fucked up kid. So I just…never learned these things. As crazy as it sounds, I don't think I've ever really bought anything from a store before. Chouji's probably wondering where I am by now." He uncurled one fist and looked at the crumpled dollar bills in his hand. "He trusted me to do something, and I couldn't."

"It's not a big deal." He stood and offered a hand to Gaara. "Why don't we go in together?"

Gaara hesitated, then slowly reached out and took his hand. Shikamaru helped him to his feet, and they went in.

Gaara stayed close to his side as Shikamaru grabbed a bottle of Mountain Dew from the refrigerated section. He browsed a moment longer, then grabbed a carton of eggs, some bread and a jug of milk. He didn't normally buy regular food—most of the time, he and Chouji lived on soda, snacks and take-out—but he didn't want to feed Gaara that stuff. Gaara looked kind of unhealthy as it was.

Gaara watched him intently as he walked up to the counter, paid for the food, and left the store with the carton of eggs tucked under one arm and the other stuff in a plastic bag. They walked down the sidewalk, toward the apartment.

"That looked easy," said Gaara.

"See? No big deal."

"I don't know what I was afraid of."

"Next time we go in you can buy the stuff yourself." He paused. "Hey, you're limping. What…" He looked down and blinked. "You're not wearing any shoes or socks."

"I didn't have any," said Gaara.

"You could have borrowed a pair from me or Chouji."

Gaara picked at a loose thread of his sleeve, gaze downcast.

Shikamaru sighed. Good thing the cashier hadn't noticed; he was pretty sure the store had a "no shoes, no shirt, no service" policy. He examined Gaara's bare feet and noticed a trail of red smudges on the sidewalk behind him. "Shit, are you bleeding?"

"I might have cut my foot on a piece of glass."

"You should've said something. Here, sit down. Let me see."

Gaara sat on the sidewalk. Shikamaru crouched in front of him, lifted his right foot and examined the cut on his heel. "Well, it doesn't look too deep. Hang on." He pulled a Swiss army knife from his pocket and flicked the blade out.

Gaara flinched and pulled back.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you." With the blade, he cut off a piece of his sleeve and tied it around Gaara's foot, covering the small wound. "This'll have to do 'til we get back to the apartment. Here, you can lean against me." He slipped an arm around Gaara and helped him to his feet.

Gaara tensed, and his breath caught in his throat.

"You okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No," he murmured. "I'm fine." After a moment, he relaxed and leaned against Shikamaru. Slowly, awkwardly, they made their way down the sidewalk, Gaara holding his injured foot off the ground as he hopped along.

Back in the apartment, Shikamaru eased Gaara onto the bed. He got a bowl of warm water and a washcloth from the kitchen, along with some disinfectant, gauze and bandages. He washed the dirt and grit out of the cut. "This might sting a little," he murmured, and dabbed Bactine into the wound. Gaara let out a little gasp. "Almost done…" Shikamaru put some gauze on the cut, then taped a bandage over it. "There you go." He smiled. "Good as new."

Gaara stared at him. For a moment, emotions swirled through the depths of his large eyes…then his mask slid back into place, and his eyes went blank.

"We really need to get you some clothes and shoes of your own, though," Shikamaru said. "Why don't I take you to the mall tonight? I'll buy you whatever you want."

"You would do that for me?"

"Sure. Got plenty of money in the coffee can."

"I thought you needed that money to enter a big tournament. Isn't that what you said?"

Shikamaru shrugged. "I can win some more. No biggie." He stood. "Come on. You can borrow some of my socks and shoes. They'll be a little big on you, but they'll do for now. Do you think you can walk on that foot? If you need to rest awhile longer, that's fine."

"I can walk."

* * *

Chouji had taken the car to work, so Shikamaru called his friend Naruto and asked for a ride. "Sure, no prob," Naruto said brightly. "I was going to the mall tonight anyway."

Later, Naruto pulled up in front of the apartment in a bright orange custom-painted Jeep with a dozen bumper stickers plastered on the back, sporting phrases like "You're just jealous because the voices only talk to me" and "Mean people suck," along with the cryptic, "I break for toads."

He rolled down the window and waved. "Hey, Shika!"

Sakura, his sometimes-girlfriend, was sitting shotgun, staring into the mirror as she applied lip-gloss. Naruto's friend Kiba was in the backseat, wearing a gray hoodie and a spiked dog collar. Kiba craned his neck, peering at Gaara. "Hey, is that…"

Sakura turned her head, eyes widening. Three pairs of eyes focused on Gaara, who tensed and drew closer to Shikamaru's side.

Shikamaru slung an arm around his shoulders. "This is my friend Gaara."

There was a pause, then Naruto shrugged. "Any friend of Shikamaru's is a friend of mine. Hop in."

Shikamaru opened the door and slid in next to Kiba. Gaara squeezed in on Shikamaru's right and pulled the door shut behind him. The car was crowded and tight, and the air inside smelled like a mixture of burritos and pine-scented air freshener.

Naruto pulled out of the parking lot with a squeal of rubber.

Kiba peered at Gaara. "So, you go to Konoha?"

"I used to," said Gaara. "I was expelled."

"Oh." He hesitated, as if debating whether to ask for details, then said instead, "Do you party?"

Gaara gave him a blank stare. "Party?"

"Yeah, you know. Hang out with people, make noise, get wasted, dance around to loud music until the neighbors bang on the wall and start yelling at you?"

"No. I don't think I've ever done that."

"Really? You should try it."

"Don't listen to him," said Sakura. "He'll corrupt you. That's all these guys _ever _do. They have yet to hear about this thing called real life."

Kiba smirked. "She loves to talk about what losers we are, but she still hangs out with us."

"Well, Ino's busy tonight."

"So you're slumming it with us, huh?"

Naruto grinned. "Come on, Sakura. You love us and you know it."

Sakura rolled her eyes, but didn't contradict him.

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the mall parking lot. Naruto started to pull into a space, but Sakura leaned forward and pointed. "There's a closer one up there."

"It's between two Hummers," said Shikamaru. "There's barely enough room for a sheet of paper to squeeze between those things. Let's just take this one."

"There's plenty of room! Take the closer one."

"It's not even that much closer. It's like four spaces away."

_"Take it!"_

No one dared to argue with Sakura, so they squeezed into the closer space and piled out of the car. They walked across the lot and into the bright warmth of the mall. "We can't stay too long," said Naruto. "It's like 7:30, and they close at nine. But I think the Food Court is still open if you want to grab some ramen…"

"Oh shit!" Sakura hissed, ducking behind Naruto. "It's Lee. Hide me."

Shikamaru looked up to see two green-clad figures walking down the hall.

"Hey, Lee!" Kiba waved. "Come say hello to your true love, Sakura! She's totally horny for you!"

"Shut _up!_" She pressed a hand over his mouth. "I swear to God if he actually comes over here, I'm going to kill you. Slowly. With a spork."

Lee, however, didn't seem to hear; he was smiling and talking to the man next to him. A moment later, they disappeared around the corner.

Sakura exhaled. "Close call."

"Why don't you want him to see you?" asked Gaara.

"Lee's determined to go out with her, despite the fact that she's turned him down like five times," said Naruto. "He asked her out again last week. Really loudly. In front of the whole lunchroom. I think he also vowed to protect her with his life or something."

"I still can't believe you threw chocolate milk in his face," said Shikamaru, looking at Sakura. "That was cold."

Sakura flushed. "I didn't even think. I just saw those huge eyebrows coming at me and panicked."

Naruto glanced in the direction Lee had gone. "Who was that guy he was with, anyway? His dad?"

"No, that's Maito Gai," said Shikamaru. "His martial arts instructor."

Kiba raised his eyebrows. "He hangs out with his martial arts instructor?"

"I guess. Seems like they're always together."

"They even dress alike," said Sakura. "It's weird."

Kiba laughed. "Oh man, those outfits."

"I have to kind of admire their guts," said Naruto. "They're not afraid to be themselves, you know? I mean, people must give them shit for dressing like that and for hanging out together, but they don't let it get to them. It takes some balls to just dress and act how you want without caring about whether other people think it's cool or normal or whatever."

"Yeah, but...come on. Green jumpsuits and orange legwarmers? Where do you even buy clothes like that? Fags 'R' Us?"

Shikamaru had been watching Gaara from the corner of his eye as they walked. Now, Gaara's shoulders tensed, and something flickered through the depths of his not-quite-blank eyes. "Ease off, Kiba," said Shikamaru.

"Sorry, is that Lee dude your friend?"

Shikamaru's gaze slid sideways to Gaara. Kiba seemed to notice, and he fell silent.

Gaara stood with his arms crossed over his chest, shoulders hunched, eyes shielded. It was that word, thought Shikamaru—_fag. _That was when he'd tensed up.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Gaara muttered.

Shikamaru cleared his throat. "Sure. This way."

He led Gaara to the nearest restroom, and they waited outside while he went in.

Kiba turned to Shikamaru, looking nervous and a little embarrassed. "Shit, is he gay?" he whispered. "Sorry. I didn't even think. You know me, I just start shooting my mouth off and I don't know when to stop. I hope he's not pissed at me."

Shikamaru paused. "Listen…Gaara's going through kind of a hard time right now. The reason I brought him here tonight is because he needs some clothes. He left all his own at home and he can't go back there to get them because his dad kicked him out."

Naruto's eyes widened. "What for?"

"I don't know the whole story. But he's all alone right now. He's been staying with me and Chouji these past few days because there's really nowhere else for him to go."

Sakura bit her lower lip. "I've heard rumors about him. They say he's dangerous. That he messed up those two kids really bad."

"Rumors are just rumors."

"I was going to say," said Naruto, "he doesn't seem violent. He seems…I dunno. Just quiet. Shy."

They waited a few minutes, but Gaara didn't come out of the bathroom.

"Listen, why don't you guys go on without us?" said Shikamaru. "We can meet back at the Food Court around 8:30."

"Okay," said Naruto.

They left. Shikamaru waited outside the bathroom another few minutes, then went in. "Gaara?" He paused. At first glance the room seemed empty, the stalls vacant. But when he looked down he could see Gaara's feet below one of the stall doors. "Hey, Gaara, you all right? You've been in here awhile."

A pause. Then the stall door creaked open, and Gaara stepped out. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't even need to go, I just—I needed to be alone for a minute. I can't deal with people. I don't know how to talk to them."

"I promise, they won't hurt you. They might seem a little rough around the edges, but they're okay, honest."

"They hate me. I can feel it. They don't want me here."

"I don't think that's true. They have no reason to hate you. But anyway, they went off on their own now. I told them I'd just meet them back at the Food Court in an hour. I figured that should give us enough time. How about it? You want to go try on some clothes?"

Gaara hesitated, then nodded, and they left the bathroom.

-To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Some sexual content in this chapter.

* * *

Gaara stood before Shikamaru in a snug black shirt with fishnet sleeves and a matching pair of jeans. Very tight jeans.

"Wow. You look…nice."

Gaara glanced down at himself. "Should I get this or the red one?"

"You can get them both. Get anything you want. I mean, you're going to need more than one set of clothes."

After Gaara picked out a few more things, Shikamaru paid for the clothes, and they left the store, Gaara still wearing the black outfit. In his over-sized t-shirt and baggy pants, he had looked tiny, elfin, kind of cute. In his new attire, he looked sleek, dark and dangerous--more like the boy Shikamaru remembered from school, the one who'd ripped off another boy's ear, the one with the cold, empty eyes. The black also emphasized just how pale and flawless his skin was. Like ivory, really. So smooth. He wondered if it was as soft as it looked.

Shikamaru shook his head, as if to shake away the thought. "Um, let's see…is there anything else we need?" He'd already bought Gaara a pair of shoes, along with some socks and several sets of boxers, and he had the bags all slung over one shoulder. "Or anything else you want?"

"I have enough."

"How's your foot holding up?"

"It's fine."

Shikamaru checked his watch. "It's almost 8:30. We should probably meet the guys down at the Food Court." He studied Gaara's face. "You going to be okay?"

"Yes." He paused. "I'm sorry I hid before. I don't want to embarrass you."

"Don't worry about it, you didn't embarrass me. It was my fault, anyway. I put you in a situation you weren't ready for."

"I wish I was like you," said Gaara. "It's so easy for you to be with people."

"That comes with time and practice. You haven't had a chance to form many healthy relationships, but that doesn't mean you never will. Once you've known someone awhile, it gets easier to relax and open up." He looked up. "There they are now."

Naruto, Sakura and Kiba all sat around a table in the Food Court, eating ramen. Naruto waved, and Shikamaru waved back. They took a seat at the table. "Bought some ramen for you," said Naruto, and pushed two bowls toward Shikamaru and Gaara.

"Thanks." Shikamaru grabbed a pair of chopsticks and dug in.

"Hey, I like that new outfit," said Sakura. Resting her elbows on the table and her chin on her folded hands, she studied Gaara. "It's cute. Black is really your color."

"Yeah, the goth look suits you," said Kiba.

"Thanks," murmured Gaara. He picked at his ramen, a flush in his pale cheeks.

* * *

After leaving the mall, they piled back into the car and pulled onto the highway. "Tubthumping" was on the radio. Naruto and Kiba started to sing along at the top of their lungs; soon, Shikamaru and Sakura joined in, and by the end even Gaara was singing, albeit very quietly…or perhaps he was just mouthing the words. Shikamaru couldn't tell.

Naruto dropped Shikamaru and Gaara off in front of Shikamaru's apartment. They waved goodbye, and the car sped off, music still blasting from the windows at full volume. Shikamaru unlocked the door to the building and walked up the stairs, Gaara close behind him.

When they arrived back in the apartment, it was empty. Shikamaru checked the voice mail on his cell phone and found a message from Chouji: "Hey Shika. I'm staying at Ino's tonight. I'll be back tomorrow morning. Peace."

Shikamaru turned the phone off, sat down on the couch and sighed. _They've only just started dating, and already he's spending the night with her?_

Gaara sat next to him. For a moment, he said nothing, just stared down at his hands. They rested in his lap, motionless and pale. "Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"Earlier tonight, when they first came to pick us up, you called me your friend. Did you mean it?"

Shikamaru met that blue-green gaze, surprised. "Sure."

"What does it mean, being someone's friend? I've never had one before."

Shikamaru considered the question. It was such a simple word, _friend—_a word most people tossed around casually. Did people ever think about what it meant? "Well, um…a friend is someone you care about. Someone you like to be with. You help your friends out when they need it, and they help you."

"Then it's a covenant formed with that person? A vow to come to their aid if they're in trouble?"

"Sort of. Mostly, though, it's just about being with someone. Sharing things with them."

"Like what?"

"Anything. Music, food, favorite TV shows, thoughts, feelings. Memories. Or just sitting and talking, like this."

"You consider me someone you would like to share things with?"

"Sure."

Gaara stared into his eyes, his expression focused and intent. Then he said, very quietly, "I had a good time tonight."

"I'm glad. I wasn't sure. I mean, you seemed kind of freaked out at first."

"I was at first. But I'm glad I had the chance to experience this. It was…interesting."

Shikamaru studied his face. Until that point, he hadn't fully understood how alone Gaara was. Something that was completely normal for most people—going to the mall with a few friends—was new and groundbreaking for him. "We can do that again. Anytime you want."

"With those same people?"

"Sure, if you like."

"Thank you."

_Never had a friend, _thought Shikamaru. It was hard for him to imagine. He'd never been Mr. Popularity himself, but he'd always had Chouji...and his parents, even if he didn't always get along with them. He'd never been all alone in the world the way Gaara was. There were so many simple pleasures he'd probably never experienced. Suddenly, Shikamaru wanted to show him all those things. He wanted to go for a long walk with him, take him out to a movie. He wanted to sit next to him in the field by the canal on a June night and watch the fireflies dance in the grass. He wanted to lay on the roof of his old house with him and look up at the stars, pick out the constellations, say something that would make him smile, make him laugh. He wondered what Gaara's laughter sounded like.

"Gaara…"

"Yes?"

He paused, trying to find some way to articulate what he was feeling...but for all his intelligence, he'd never been very good at that. So he just put his hand over Gaara's and squeezed gently. Gaara's breath caught in his throat. Shikamaru's hand lingered over his for a moment, then slipped away, and heat rose into his cheeks. He'd just held another guy's hand. Only for a moment, but still. He wondered why it felt so natural, so right.

And he found himself thinking back to earlier that night, Kiba's question—_Is he gay?_

Gaara was already so different. It didn't seem fair for him to be saddled with yet another thing that other people would pick on and ostracize him for. But then, the universe had never been fair.

"It's late," Shikamaru murmured. "We should get some rest. Um...I can sleep on the couch if you want the bed..."

"No. You take the bed. I'll probably be up a while longer, anyway."

* * *

Later, Shikamaru lay in bed, wearing only his boxers. He'd almost drifted off to sleep when he heard the creak of the door, then soft feet padding toward him. In the thin beam of moonlight from the window, he saw the gleam of red hair and white skin. "Gaara?" Shikamaru tensed as Gaara slid into bed, beneath the covers, and pressed against him. Gaara was wearing only a thin t-shirt and boxers, and Shikamaru could feel the warmth of his skin, the sharp angles of his skinny little body.

Shikamaru swallowed, his heart thumping. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I can't sleep," murmured Gaara.

"You…" He went rigid as Gaara's hand brushed his cock. Even through his cotton boxers, the touch jolted him like electricity. He opened his mouth to say, _What the hell? _but only a faint squeak emerged.

Gaara's hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers. His breath tickled Shikamaru's neck. "This is what you want, isn't it?" he whispered. Then he tugged down the boxers and lowered his head.

"Gaara—wait—"

"It's okay. I know how to do this. Just relax."

Shikamaru felt the wet heat of Gaara's tongue on his cock. His hips jerked in a spasm of shock.

This—this was crazy. What the fuck was going on? Well, he knew _what, _but it made no sense. This was _Gaara_--the quiet, reserved boy who shied away from human contact, who'd hidden in the mall bathroom because he didn't know how to talk to people. The very last thing Shikamaru had expected was for Gaara to climb into his bed and start blowing him without so much as a how-do-you-do. "Gaara, stop," he murmured.

Gaara didn't seem to hear him. His hot, wet mouth engulfed the first few inches of Shikamaru's cock, and Shikamaru gasped. "Gaara, _stop!_" He heard the raw edge of panic in his own voice. "I said stop!"

Gaara froze. In the darkness, Shikamaru couldn't see his expression. After a moment, he pulled back. Shikamaru fumbled for the light switch, groping the wall until he found it and flipped it, and the room was drowned in light.

Gaara knelt on the bed, wearing his over-sized t-shirt, his face unreadable.

"Jesus, Gaara, what was that about?"

"I thought you wanted it," Gaara said, his voice flat and toneless. "I thought you expected it."

"What?" He stared. "Why?"

Gaara's blank mask wavered for a moment, and he averted his eyes. "Forgive me. I've made a terrible mistake. Now you're disgusted with me." He stood. "I should go."

"No, just—wait." Shikamaru took a deep breath and pushed the loose hair out of his face. Think, he had to think. What was the best way to handle this?

He realized his boxers were still down around his knees, his half-erect dick hanging out in plain sight. He yanked his boxers up, cheeks burning.

"Do you want me to leave?" Gaara asked quietly. "I can leave your apartment tonight if you want. I couldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again."

"No, don't. Just sit. Sit down."

Gaara hesitated, then sat on the edge of the bed. He looked suddenly very fragile, small and uncertain, his eyes large and wary.

"Why did you think I expected that?" asked Shikamaru.

Gaara looked away, rubbing one arm. "You've been doing all these things for me. You took me in, gave me food and clothes and kindness. I'm not an idiot. I know people don't do things like that for no reason. And I know you're attracted to me."

Shikamaru swallowed, his mouth dry. "What makes you think that?"

"Am I wrong?"

Shikamaru hesitated. _Was _he attracted to him? He'd never really thought of boys that way. Of course, he'd never met a boy as beautiful as Gaara, either. "I don't know. But even if I am, that doesn't mean I expect you to do something like that for me. That's not why I'm helping you."

"Then why?"

"Is it really so difficult to believe that someone might help another person without wanting anything in return?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's true. You don't owe me anything. Okay?" He paused, almost afraid to ask. "Was there someone who _did _expect that sort of thing from you?"

Gaara was silent for a long moment. He pulled one knee up to his chest and hugged it. Then he spoke, very quietly. "When I was a child, I used to visit my Uncle Yashamaru on weekends. He would ask me to do things."

Shikamaru's throat tightened, and for a moment, he thought he was going to cry. As if Gaara didn't have enough psychological baggage to deal with, he'd been sexually abused too? "I'm sorry." It was all he could think to say.

Gaara stared into space. "It wasn't so bad at first. I didn't like the things he made me do, but afterward he would hold me. He was the only person who ever held me. My father always resented me, but Yashamaru really cared about me. Or at least, that's what I believed at the time." He looked away. "Then, as I got older, he started wanting more, and…he started to do things that really hurt."

"How long did this go on?"

"Years. Eventually I couldn't bear it. I told my father, and he told me that I wouldn't be visiting my uncle anymore. After a few months I learned that Yashamaru had killed himself. I wasn't meant to find out about that, I think, but my dad had been keeping his suicide note in a desk drawer, and I stumbled upon it while I was looking for something else. He--" Gaara's voice wavered. "The note said that it was my fault. That I'd left him no choice. That I'd driven him to it by exposing him. I remember the last line. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it. 'I'm burning in hell now, and someday you'll be here with me.' Those were his last words to me."

"Jesus," whispered Shikamaru, and pressed a hand to his forehead. He felt sick.

"The worst part was, he was right. It's my fault. I killed the only person I ever loved."

"No, Gaara. You didn't kill him." Shikamaru framed Gaara's face between his hands and looked into his eyes. "You didn't do anything wrong. You were just a kid. You didn't deserve to be hurt like that."

"No, I…I'm a monster. A demon. Even my father says so. I _made _Uncle Yashamaru do things things. I seduced him. I made him feel things that were against his nature."

"That doesn't even make sense. Is that what he told you, that you _seduced _him? You were how old when this started?"

Gaara paused. "Seven."

"And he tried to pin the blame on you, an innocent little kid? Doesn't that seem twisted to you?"

"I…"

"Listen to me. It's. Not. Your. Fault."

Gaara shut his eyes. "Then why do I feel like a bad person?" he whispered.

"Because your dad and uncle have been fucking with your head all these years, blaming you for everything they've done wrong."

Gaara's eyes opened, bright with tears. One spilled from his eye and down his pale cheek, leaving a shining track. The hard line of his mouth softened and trembled. "It hurt so much." Another tear fell, then another. "It still hurts. I…I couldn't bear it, knowing he'd died hating me. I wanted to take it back, but it was too late." He shut his eyes and hid his face in his hands. "Why?" he whispered. "Why do these things happen to me? Am I cursed? Is there something wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you." He wrapped his arms around Gaara and stroked his short, red hair, holding his head to his shoulder. "I wish I'd known you back then. I wish I could have saved you from that nightmare."

"Shikamaru…you…" Gaara's voice trembled. Then he buried his face against Shikamaru's chest. "You don't think I'm bad?"

"No." He rubbed Gaara's back, feeling the tiny bumps of his spine through his shirt. "You're not bad. You're a gentle person. Beneath all those scars, you're good and kind. I can feel that about you."

"If you could see everything in my head…the dark places…"

"We all have dark places in our heads. It doesn't make you a monster. It makes you human."

Gaara was silent a moment. Then he asked quietly, "Can I spend the night here with you? In your bed? I--I won't do anything. I just want to be near you."

"Okay." Shikamaru lay down, Gaara still clasped gently in his arms. He could feel Gaara's heart beating against his.

"It's been a long time since anyone has held me," he said.

"I'll hold you anytime you want."

"You will?"

"Sure." Such a simple thing, thought Shikamaru. It was easy to hold someone. It took no effort at all on his part—yet it meant so much to Gaara. Shikamaru wrapped his arms tighter around that small frame. "You're my friend, after all."

Silence.

"Gaara?"

For a moment, Gaara said nothing. Then he spoke, very softly. "After Yashamaru died, something in me shattered. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills. It was Matsuri, our cleaning lady, who found me and brought me to the hospital. If she hadn't been around, I probably would have died there on the bathroom floor. I don't think my father would have lifted a finger to save me. I spent six months in an institution after that, but that was the only time I tried to kill myself. I was afraid to try again--afraid I'd fail and be sent back to that place. Once I'd recovered enough to think clearly, I promised myself I'd never love anyone for the rest of my life. That I'd never let another person inside my heart. I couldn't go through the pain of betrayal again. I wouldn't take the chance. But I lied to myself, as it turns out."

Shikamaru's heartbeat quickened. "What do you mean?"

"You're in my heart. I don't know how it happened. I never meant to let my guard down, but somehow you got inside me."

"Gaara…"

"Since I met you, I've started to feel things again. I—I'm afraid of feeling things. But I'm afraid of losing you too. Just…please…" He gulped, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't shatter me."

"I won't. I swear. I won't be like him. I want to help you, Gaara. I…"

Gaara looked up, and Shikamaru fell silent. That face was just a few inches from his, those wide, tear-filled eyes so close, Shikamaru felt himself drowning in their depths. He stared, frozen, mouth dry, mind reeling. It was _him _Gaara was looking at with such need, such rapt intensity. It was him—Shikamaru, the lazy, useless stoner, the high school dropout who'd disappointed his parents by refusing to make anything of himself—it was that person Gaara spoke of when he'd spoken those words: _You're in my heart._

He'd done almost nothing. Just shown Gaara a little kindness, given him a place to stay. And now…now, somehow, he held this beautiful boy's damaged heart in his hands, and he didn't know what the hell to do with it.

"I'm sorry," Gaara murmured.

"For what?"

"For what I tried to do earlier. I just thought...I don't know. I don't want to lose you. That's all."

"You don't need sex to have a bond with someone."

"But that's how it was with him. I gave him sex and he gave me love in return...or at least the illusion of love. When I first met you and you were so kind to me, it confused me because I didn't know why you were doing it, what you wanted. And then I realized you were attracted to me, and...it made sense. Tonight, I felt like I understood what I had to do, and I accepted it. I was willing to do anything if it meant being able to stay with you."

"That's not why I helped you. I'm not him." On impulse, he kissed Gaara's forehead, just a feather-soft brush of flesh on flesh. "I want you to understand—it's not always about that."

A tremor ran through Gaara's body. He pressed closer, his thin arms tightening around Shikamaru.

They held each other for the rest of the night.

-To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

Shikamaru woke to a loud, obnoxious beep. "Ugh…" He reached over, fumbling, and hit the snooze button. Why had he set his alarm? He couldn't remember now. Since dropping out of school, he usually didn't bother.

He blinked sleep from his eyes and raked a hand through his hair, which hung loose around his face. Someone stirred, and Shikamaru experienced a moment's disorientation—someone was in bed with him? He looked down to see Gaara nestled against his side, eyes closed.

Oh. Right.

Sunlight spilled through a gap in the curtains and across Gaara's face, shining on that white skin, that red, red hair. His eyes opened, sleepy pools of sea-green, luminous in the sunlight. _God, he's beautiful..._ A shiver traced its way up Shikamaru's spine, and his breath caught in his throat. He'd found Gaara strangely attractive from the beginning, but somehow it had never hit him with such force until this moment. The sight pierced him like a knife, and a strange feeling stirred deep in his being, a yearning to keep and hold that beauty for his own.

Gaara closed his eyes again, rubbed them with one fist, and yawned.

Shikamaru averted his gaze. He couldn't look at that beauty another moment, or he'd...he'd...he didn't know what. Do something crazy, like kiss him. "Good morning," he murmured. "Sleep okay?"

"Yes. I've slept much better since coming here. The monster hasn't come out at all since I met you."

There was that monster talk again. "You know there's not _really _a monster in you, right? I mean, those black-outs you've had…it's not like there's literally something else inside you that takes over your mind. It's just a psychological thing."

Gaara looked away. "You might feel differently if you ever saw it happen."

Shikamaru made a noncommittal sound in his throat and got out of bed. "I'm going to make some coffee. You drink coffee?"

Gaara shook his head.

"Is there anything you'd like?"

He hesitated. "Maybe some hot tea. If it's not too much trouble."

"Sure. Chamomile okay?"

Gaara nodded. "Thank you."

"No problem." Shikamaru pulled on a t-shirt and left the bedroom. As he entered the living room, he froze. Chouji and Ino sat on the couch side by side, watching TV. Chouji had one arm around Ino's shoulders. He looked up. "Oh, hi Shikamaru."

"Chouji. Ino." He blinked. "When did you get here?"

"'Bout an hour ago."

"We're going out for breakfast," said Ino. "We thought we'd stop by and ask if you wanted to join us. You didn't answer the door, so we just let ourselves in."

"Hope you don't mind," said Chouji, smiling. There was a dazed, happy look in his eyes. Shikamaru wondered what he and Ino had done last night. He decided not to ask. "So, you want to come with us?"

"Um…"

"Come with us," said Ino. "It'll be fun. Besides, I want to get to know you. You're Chouji's best friend, but in all the time I've known him I've hardly spoken to you at all. We can wait while you get ready."

"Uh, sure. Hang on." He went back into the bedroom, grumbling to himself. Ino had always treated Shikamaru like a piece of furniture before. Now all of a sudden she wanted to be friends?

Gaara sat up in bed. "What's going on?"

Shikamaru threw on a cleaner shirt and a pair of jeans. "Chouji and Ino are here, and they invited me out to eat with them. Yeesh. He could at least warn me when he's bringing a girl over. I mean, what if I'd walked out there in nothing but boxers?" He pulled on a jacket. "You coming with?"

"They—they wouldn't mind?"

Shikamaru shrugged. "If they're inviting me along, I doubt they'd mind one more person." That, and it'd probably be good for Gaara to get out and interact with people some more.

A few minutes later, they stepped out of the bedroom, Gaara in the black outfit he'd picked out yesterday.

At the sight of him, Ino's eyes widened.

"Hey," said Shikamaru, "I'm bringing Gaara too. That okay?"

"Sure," said Chouji.

Ino hesitated, biting her full lower lip. She glanced at Chouji, then shrugged with exaggerated casualness and said, "Of course."

Shikamaru grabbed his jacket. "Then let's go."

* * *

Later, the four of them sat in a booth in the back of Bernie's Diner, drinking coffee. Shikamaru and Gaara sat side by side, across from Ino and Chouji. Ino wore a belly-bearing black shirt with GO PIGS written on the front in silver glitter. When Shikamaru asked her about it, she replied, "They're our high school basketball team. You really didn't know that?"

"I'm not really into sports."

Ino stared at him, open-mouthed. Judging by the look on her face, one would think he'd just confessed to eating a live human baby every morning. "But…don't you have any school pride?"

"Not really. I dropped out a year ago, remember?"

"I've always wondered about that. I mean, Chouji tells me you're the smartest person he knows, so you could have passed easily. Why drop out?"

He shrugged. "Going to school was a bother."

"If you say so." Ino leaned a little closer to Chouji and asked, "What are you gonna have, honey-bear?"

"Hm, let's see…"

_Honey-bear? _thought Shikamaru, and raised an eyebrow. They'd moved to the "pet names" stage awfully quickly.

Ino had been obsessed with Sasuke for years, and she'd just broken up with him the other day. She couldn't possibly be over him this fast. Was this all some elaborate strategy to make Sasuke jealous or get revenge on him or something? Shikamaru knew these were cynical thoughts--he should just be happy for Chouji and mind his own business--but he couldn't shake the feeling that Ino was up to something.

"Maybe I'll just get my usual," said Chouji. "The pancake special with biscuits and gravy and a slice of peanut butter pie."

"Sounds good." She scanned the menu. "I'm having the Greek omelet. What about you, Shikamaru?"

"French toast." He turned to Gaara. "What would you like?"

Gaara sat hunched over, his gaze downcast. "Tea."

"That's all?"

"I don't have any money. I don't want to spend too much of yours. You've already bought so much for me."

"Don't worry about it, okay? Get whatever you want. You need some meat on your bones, anyway. Otherwise you might just float away on the next breeze."

Gaara gave him a faintly puzzled, serious look, as if trying to decide whether there was any real danger of this happening. Then he opened the menu again.

A waitress approached and asked if they were ready. Chouji, Ino and Shikamaru ordered. The waitress looked at Gaara, who hunched deeper and lowered his head. He looked as if he were trying to disappear into himself. "What'll it be, hon?"

Gaara mumbled something.

"What's that?"

"Pancakes."

"Short stack or full?"

When Gaara didn't answer, Shikamaru—remembering Gaara's fear of talking to strangers—said, "Just bring the full. Some hot tea, too."

The waitress left. Their food arrived within ten minutes. Chouji and Ino fed each other, and Shikamaru had to look away. It felt kind of strange watching his best friend do something like that with a girl.

"Here, try the pie," said Chouji, holding a forkful to Ino's lips.

"Oh no," she said, smiling, "I shouldn't, I'm on a diet."

"But it's really good. I promise."

"Well, maybe just a tiny morsel."

Shikamaru rolled his eyes. Ino was already so thin it bordered on unhealthy, yet she was _always _dieting. Maybe Chouji would be a good influence on her and convince her that putting on a few pounds wouldn't hurt her looks—hell, it might even help them.

A forkful of syrup-soaked pancakes appeared in front of his nose. He blinked and turned his head to see Gaara holding the fork up. "Um, Gaara?"

"They're feeding each other, so I thought we should too. I thought maybe that's just what people do here." Uncertainty crept into his voice. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. It's okay." Shikamaru accepted the pancakes, chewed and swallowed. After a moment, he picked up his own fork, speared a chunk of French toast and held it to Gaara's lips, ignoring the curious stares of the other customers. He smiled as Gaara took a bite.

After they finished, they paid and left the restaurant. Bernie's was within walking distance of the apartment, but they'd taken the Volvo there. "You want to drive, or should I?" asked Chouji.

Shikamaru lifted one hand in a wave. "You guys go ahead. I'm going to take a walk down by the canal. Gaara, you want to come with me?"

Gaara hesitated, then nodded. While Chouji and Ino pulled out of the parking lot, Gaara followed Shikamaru down the street. They walked in silence for some time, down the gravel path toward the field where they'd first met. Shikamaru sat near the canal's edge, and Gaara sat beside him.

"Why did you want to come out here?" asked Gaara.

"Just to sit and look around." He leaned back, his hands on the grass. "We live in a world where you're supposed to be busy all the time. If you're not always doing something productive, people think there's something wrong with you. But there's a lot to be said for just sitting and looking. Sometimes I like to come here and just let my thoughts drift." Shikamaru looked up and pointed at one of the pillowy clouds dotting the sky. "What does that look like to you?"

Gaara studied it. "What do you mean? It looks like a cloud."

"Look again. Through your imagination this time."

Gaara stared for a moment, and his smooth brow wrinkled. "I guess I don't have an imagination. It still looks like a cloud to me."

"Don't worry. You'll get the hang of it." Shikamaru smiled and pointed. "That one looks like a dragon. See the neck? It's sort of curved…and there's the head. Its mouth is open and that little cloud looks like a flame coming out."

Gaara tilted his head. The furrows in his brow deepened.

"You're trying too hard," said Shikamaru. "Just relax."

"I do sort of see it, I think." He pointed. "What about that one?"

"That? That's a path through the mountains. You can see the trees to either side. And there's a traveler walking along the path."

"You see all that?"

"Sure. And that one over there looks like a herd of wild horses. And that…" He paused. "That one looks kind of like you, actually."

"Really?"

"Yeah. See, there's the nose. And the eyes."

Gaara squinted. "I still only see clouds."

A cool breeze sighed through the grass. Gaara shivered. "Cold?" asked Shikamaru. He nodded. Shikamaru took off his jacket and draped it around Gaara's thin shoulders.

Gaara looked up at him, eyes wide. A faint, pink flush rose into his pale cheeks. "Thank you," he murmured.

"No problem." Shikamaru stared up at the sky for another minute or two, then looked at Gaara. "Tell me something about you."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything. What kind of music do you like?"

"I don't listen to music very much."

"You don't have a favorite song or a favorite band or anything?"

"Not really. There was a time during high school when I was listening to a lot of death metal. Dark, angry stuff. I guess that was how I felt inside most of the time. I don't know if I really _liked _it, though. I just listened to it. Maybe it made me feel less alone, knowing there were other people who felt that way." Gaara paused. "What about you?"

"I guess my tastes are pretty random. I'll listen to anything from Bob Dylan to Puffy AmiYumi."

Gaara was silent for a moment, as if digesting this information, then said, "Tell me other things about you."

He chuckled. "There's not much to say. My life is pretty boring, really."

"They don't have to be interesting. I just want to know about you."

So Shikamaru kept talking, telling Gaara about his favorite foods, his favorite TV shows, anything that popped into his head. It occurred to him that he wasn't used to talking about himself. Outside his small circle of friends, who already knew most things about him, he didn't interact with many people socially. He'd always found small talk troublesome. But now, he found he didn't really mind. And even though he was talking about the most mundane things, Gaara was hanging onto his every word, gazing at him intently. After awhile, he leaned his head on Shikamaru's shoulder. Shikamaru's face moved slowly closer to Gaara's as he looked into those eyes. A wave of vertigo washed over him, and he trailed off, just staring. He felt as if his center of gravity had shifted--up and down meant nothing. All that existed were those eyes, and he was falling toward them, into them, his sense of identity melting into their depths. Gaara's breath tickled his lips.

"Hey!" a deep voice shouted, yanking him from his reverie. "Hey, queers! What the fuck are you doing?"

Shikamaru felt Gaara tense. He looked over his shoulder and saw three boys about his own age standing in the field. They looked vaguely familiar—he'd probably gone to high school with them—but he didn't recall their names.

"You heard me, faggots!"

Gaara's breathing quickened, and his muscles went rigid. "Easy," Shikamaru murmured in his ear.

Shikamaru glanced at the men and quickly assessed the situation. There were three of them. They were all bigger than him, and quite possibly drunk, judging from their moronic grins, which would make them more aggressive than usual. Shikamaru knew some basic self-defense, but he preferred not having to fight at all. Pissing them off would just increase the likelihood of getting into a fight. Reasoning with them probably wouldn't work. So he went for the reaction most likely to confuse them: he gave them a cheerful smile and a wave. "Good morning!" he called out.

Their grins melted into baffled frowns. Shikamaru leaned close to Gaara again and murmured, "Let's go. Now." He stood, his hand on Gaara's shoulder, and they walked across the field, giving the men a wide berth. One thing Shikamaru had learned early in life was that the simplest way to deal with a troublesome situation was often just to walk away. He fought when he had to, but only when there was no other option; if that made him a coward, so be it.

Gaara's shoulder trembled beneath his hand.

They'd almost reached the end of the field when a rough hand grabbed Shikamaru's arm. "Did I say you could leave?"

So much for walking calmly away, thought Shikamaru.

This was going to be troublesome.

He turned and faced the man, a beady-eyed blond. With his hulking shoulders and thick limbs, he looked like a shaved bear poured into a too-tight, beer-stained Notre Dame shirt. "Look," said Shikamaru, "we aren't bothering anyone and we don't want to fight. Let's just go our separate ways."

"We don't like your kind," said another man. He leaned in close until his beer-breath hit Shikamaru in the face. "You queers are fucking up this country."

"Yeah." The third guy grinned, pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and flipped it open. The blade's edge caught the sunlight. It looked very sharp. "You're just human garbage. Maybe it's time to do a little clean up. What d'you think about that?"

His friends laughed.

Shikamaru gritted his teeth. His mind raced, shuffling through different plans. If he kneed the blond in the groin, would he and Gaara have enough time to make a run for it? Difficult to say, since he didn't know how fast these guys were. He could start shouting for help, but out here, they'd be lucky if anyone heard them. They might have no choice but to fight.

Just then, he noticed Gaara was breathing strangely. He looked at him…and a chill crawled up his spine. Gaara's lips had stretched into a wide, unnatural grin, baring all his teeth, and his eyes were so wide the whites showed all around. There was a crazed, wild look in those eyes.

Shikamaru had never seen anything like it before, but he knew at once what it was: the face of Gaara's monster.

-To be continued


	7. Chapter 7

Shikamaru stared at that wide, toothy grin, and goosebumps rose on his arms. The expression looked so unnatural, so _wrong _on Gaara's normally calm and emotionless face. "Gaara?" he whispered.

Gaara didn't reply. He was breathing heavily. His tongue crept out and slowly wet his lips.

Their attackers hadn't noticed the change in him yet. Too drunk, probably. The blond dug his fingers into Shikamaru's bicep, making him flinch. "Hey, you fucking pansy, look at me when I'm talking to you!"

A fist slammed into Shikamaru's gut. He doubled over, gasping for breath.

The blond pulled back a fist to hit him again…

Then a cold voice said, "Don't touch him." It was Gaara's voice, but deeper, raspier than usual. It sounded almost like another person.

The blond looked at Gaara, scrunched up his forehead and narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah? What'll you do if I…"

Gaara lunged and bit his neck.

The blond stumbled backwards, eyes wide and stunned. Panting, he grabbed Gaara's shoulders and tried to push him away, but Gaara sank his teeth in deeper. Blood ran down the front of the guy's Notre Dame shirt. _"Shit!" _he screamed. _"Jesus Christ, get him off me!"_

The other two guys grabbed Gaara. Though they were both bigger than him and probably outweighed him by a hundred pounds apiece, it seemed to take all their strength just to drag him away from their friend. They flung Gaara to the ground, and he landed in a catlike crouch. He looked up, blood smearing his mouth like lipstick, his teeth still bared in that inhuman grin, his dark-ringed eyes bloodshot, hard and bright. "I can taste your fear," he whispered in that deep, rough voice.

"What the fuck?" wailed the blond, one hand pressed to his bleeding neck. "What kind of freak are you?"

Shikamaru swallowed. When he spoke, his voice emerged thin and shaky. "Gaara…maybe we should go now…"

Gaara didn't seem to hear him. He licked his lips and sprang at one of the other men.

Shikamaru watched in a daze. Everything was a blur of motion. He saw the flash of a switchblade, then heard a strangled scream—but it wasn't Gaara's. Blood flew through the air, and the switchblade dropped to the grass. The man cupped one bleeding cheek. Gaara's fist lashed out, fast as a striking snake, and knocked him to the ground. He lunged. His teeth clamped down on the man's nose. Shikamaru heard a wet crunch, like someone biting into a spoonful of cereal, followed by an earsplitting shriek.

Slowly, as if in a trance, Shikamaru backed away. He watched as the man rolled back and forth on the grass, howling, and Gaara's teeth sank deeper. _Crunch. _The other two guys turned and ran screaming across the field, abandoning their companion in their haste to escape.

"Gaara!" Shikamaru cried. "Gaara, that's enough!"

Gaara didn't react. The man raised a fist and hit the side of Gaara's head over and over, but he didn't seem to feel it.

At last, the man managed to pull Gaara off him. Blood bubbled, dark and glistening, from the wet, misshapen lump that had been his nose. Blood poured over his mouth and chin, down the front of his shirt. He choked and gurgled as he stumbled to his feet and ran. Gaara started to run after him, but Shikamaru tackled him and wrapped his arms around him, holding him from behind. "Gaara, _Gaara! _Snap out of it!"

Gaara twitched and coughed. Something fell out of his mouth and onto the grass below—a peach-colored, blood spattered something resembling a tiny mushroom. With a twinge of nausea, Shikamaru realized it was the tip of the guy's nose. "Shit…" He released Gaara, pressed a hand to his stomach and staggered backwards. Dizziness washed over him.

Gaara fell to his hands and knees, breathing hard. Slowly, he raised his head. The crazed grin had faded. So had the wild light in his eyes. He looked lost, confused, his sheet-white face still spattered with blood. Shaking, he ran his fingers through the blood on his cheek and stared at his crimson-stained fingertips. Then he looked down at the bloody nose-tip in the grass. "Oh God," he whispered. "Oh God. It happened again." Gaara pressed his hands to his face, breathing hard.

Shikamaru stared, frozen.

Gaara stared at his trembling, blood-spattered hands. Tears streaked his cheeks and shone in his eyes. He made a small, choked sound, then retched onto the grass. His breakfast came out in foamy yellow strings, tinged red with blood. He looked at it and threw up again. Tears dripped from his face.

Shikamaru took a deep breath, collecting his wits. Then he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled across the grass toward Gaara. Slowly, he reached out and touched that thin, trembling shoulder. "Easy," he murmured. "Relax. It's over now."

"I did it again." He pushed his fingers through his hair, then ran them over his face again and again, smearing the blood until it looked like war-paint. "I'm a monster."

"No you're not." Shikamaru took another deep breath and tried to push away the image of Gaara chewing on the man's face like an animal. Think. He had to think. They couldn't go back to the apartment with Gaara looking like this. "Let me clean you up." He led Gaara over to the canal, tore a strip from his own shirt and dipped it into the water. He used the makeshift rag to wash the blood from Gaara's face and hands.

Gaara stared at the ground. "You should go. Just...just leave me."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't want you to be in trouble. You saw what happened. If those men report this to the police…"

"They're not going to report this. They attacked us. We just defended ourselves." Of course, they had no proof that the men had attacked them first, but he'd worry about that later.

"That one will have to go to the hospital. I…" Gaara gulped. "I bit part of his nose off. He'll have to explain what happened. Even if he doesn't know our names, he'll be able to describe us." Gaara's breathing quickened. "They'll come for me—they—they'll lock me up…"

"I won't let them take you." Shikamaru held Gaara's face between his hands and looked into those frightened blue-green eyes, but Gaara didn't seem to see him. His gaze darted back and forth, as if searching for a place to hide. "Gaara, look at me." Shikamaru held his face tighter. "Look at me."

Gaara's eyes slowly focused on him.

"I won't let anyone hurt you. Everything's going to be okay. I promise."

Gaara looked at him, his eyes huge and shining with tears. He buried his face against Shikamaru's chest and clutched him tight. Shudders wracked his body.

Shikamaru hugged him close, then pulled back and looked him in the eye. "Listen, Gaara, we can't stay here. Can you stand?"

A tiny nod.

Shikamaru helped him to his feet.

* * *

When they got back home, the apartment was empty. Shikamaru could only assume that Chouji was still out with Ino somewhere. Just as well. He wasn't sure how he was going to explain this.

He led Gaara into the bedroom, took off his jacket and eyed the blood-spattered shirt beneath. "We need to get you out of those clothes. Here, change into these." He tossed Gaara one of his own t-shirts and a pair of jeans. Gaara pulled off his black shirt, and Shikamaru wadded it up and shoved it into a plastic garbage bag. He'd figure out the best way to get rid of it later.

After changing into fresh clothes, Gaara huddled on the edge of the bed, still shaking, his eyes glazed. Shikamaru wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. He didn't know if that would help at all, but he had to do something. Gaara's rapid breathing filled the silence. "My mouth tastes like blood," he whispered.

"Hang on, I'll get you some water." Shikamaru fetched a glass of tap water from the kitchen and carried it to Gaara. He watched as Gaara swished his mouth out and spit the red-tinged water back into the glass. "You okay?"

"Dizzy. The room is spinning."

"You're hyperventilating. Try to slow your breathing."

"C-can't." His chest rose and fell, and sweat glistened on his brow. "I—I feel like my mind is coming apart. I keep seeing blood on my hands, and it won't come off. I can't breathe…" He clutched his chest.

Shikamaru took Gaara's hand. "Listen, you're having a panic attack. It'll pass soon. Just focus on controlling your breathing."

"I'm t-trying."

Shikamaru's mind raced. What should he do? Take him to the hospital? But Gaara was terrified of hospitals…and then, of course, Shikamaru would have to explain what had triggered this. No, he couldn't do that. He just had to calm him down—somehow.

His hand tightened on Gaara's. "You're safe. There's nothing to be scared of."

"They'll come for me. They'll send me back to my father, or to the institution, and I can't go back, I _can't._"

"None of that is going to happen. I'm going to protect you. Don't think about that stuff, okay? Just focus on my voice. You're gonna be fine." He stroked Gaara's knuckles with his thumb. "I—I know this feels awful, but it'll be over soon. I promise."

Gaara's pulse fluttered below his jaw. He gulped in breath after breath, clutching his chest.

Shikamaru wrapped his arms around him and hugged him. "It's okay...it's okay..." He rocked him gently, as if he were a child.

Gaara clung to him and hid his face in the hollow between Shikamaru's neck and shoulder. After a few minutes, his breathing slowed and his trembling subsided, though Shikamaru could still feel the rapid thump-thump of his heart.

He lay him gently on the bed. "You okay?"

Gaara nodded. The wild, panicky look had faded from his eyes, and he was breathing normally again. He looked drained, exhausted, his pale skin damp with sweat. "Sorry," he murmured.

"You don't have to apologize." Shikamaru squeezed Gaara's hand. His skin felt so cold. Shikamaru pulled a blanket up to his chin and tucked the edges in around him.

For a few minutes, Gaara stared silently at the wall. "Things might get complicated soon," he said quietly. "I hurt someone. If the police _do _come looking for me...I don't want anything bad to happen to you. I should just leave."

"Forget that. I told you, I'll figure something out. You're staying with me."

Gaara didn't reply.

"You want something to eat? You lost most of your breakfast back there in the field."

"I don't know if I could eat."

"Have a little something, at least. You really can't afford to lose anymore weight."

Gaara hesitated, then lowered his gaze and nodded.

"What would you like? I could make you a sandwich."

"Okay."

He went into the kitchen and fixed a bologna and cheese sandwich. With Shikamaru's coaxing, Gaara ate about half and managed to keep it down. After that, he went into the shower and emerged forty minutes later, hair slicked down and wet, skin flushed, clothes clinging to his damp body. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at Shikamaru, biting his lower lip. His smooth brow was wrinkled, his shoulders hunched, and his blue-green eyes seemed larger than usual.

Just a few hours ago, Shikamaru had seen a demon staring out from those eyes, but no trace of it remained. What gazed out through them now was a child—vulnerable, lost, wounded. Both of those beings lived inside Gaara, behind the cool, guarded mask he showed the world. Which was the real him? Or were they all part of the same whole?

Shikamaru sat beside him. "How do you feel?"

"Okay, I guess." For a moment, he stared down at his hands, then asked softly, "Can you ever forgive me?"

"For what?"

"If I hadn't been with you, none of this would have happened."

"It isn't your fault."

"But it happened because of me. People like those men…they find me, wherever I am. It was the same way at school. It's like they can smell the weakness in me."

"You think you're weak? After you beat those three punks with your bare hands?"

"That wasn't me. That was the monster. I can't control it. If you hadn't stopped it when you did…I...I don't know what would have happened. I don't _want_ to hurt anyone. I just want to be left alone. But I hurt people just by being around them. You probably wish you'd never met me."

"Stop it. Stop talking like that."

"But it's the truth, isn't it? I've caused you nothing but trouble."

"No. That isn't true." He paused. "It's strange, but…on the morning before I met you, I was looking into the mirror, wondering who I was and if there was any purpose to my life. I felt…empty. Lost. Then I found you, and…I wanted to help you. It's the first time in a long time I really, really _wanted _something. Just being with you, I feel…I dunno, I'm bad at putting these things into words. But I don't regret meeting you. I guess that's all I'm saying."

Gaara hesitated, chewing his lower lip, and looked up at him. "Am I still your friend?"

"Sure." He studied that beautiful face, the lines of pain etched into his brow and around his eyes. "Gaara..."

"Hold me. Please."

Shikamaru did.

* * *

Later, he cut Gaara's bloodstained shirt into small squares and flushed the pieces down the toilet. It seemed like the easiest way to get rid of the evidence. Burning it would be difficult in his small apartment, washing it might not remove all the residue, and if he threw it in the trash, it might be discovered later on.

Of course, if those punks gave their descriptions to the police, they'd be fucked anyway. With Gaara's pale skin, dark-ringed eyes and distinctive red hair, he'd be easily remembered. He could dye his hair, maybe...hide those dark rings with makeup. Shikamaru would figure something out.

Chouji got home around six. If he noticed that Gaara seemed even quieter than usual, or that Shikamaru seemed distant and preoccupied, he didn't say anything.

That night, as Shikamaru was getting ready for bed, Gaara entered the bedroom. He stood, wearing a baggy t-shirt that hung to his knees. "Can I spend the night with you again?" he asked softly. "I don't want to be alone right now."

Shikamaru nodded.

Minutes later, they lay under the covers, wrapped in each other's arms, Gaara's head resting on Shikamaru's chest. "You've seen the monster now. Are you afraid of it?"

Shikamaru bit his lower lip. He could say _no, _but it would be an obvious lie. What he'd seen had shaken him; he couldn't hide that. "A little."

"Yet you still want to be with me?"

"Yeah. I do."

"You're an angel. You must be. Only an angel could care for a demon like me."

"I'm nothing special. And you're not a demon." He hesitated. "What I saw today…it freaked me out, yeah. But it doesn't change how I feel about you." He rubbed Gaara's back. "Even in that state, you still knew who I was. I know you'd never hurt me."

"Shikamaru…"

He placed a soft kiss on Gaara's forehead. "Rest. We'll talk about it more tomorrow."

-To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

_Gaara is lost in his memories again._

_He is ten years old and he's on a boat in the middle of a blue lake with Uncle Yashamaru. They have fishing poles, and they're baiting the hooks; Yashamaru is showing Gaara how to do it. They use wadded up bits of white bread because Gaara can't bear to pierce a worm. He hates to see living things in pain._

_When they finally catch a fish, in fact, the sight of its frantic struggles makes his throat tighten, and tears well up in his eyes._

"_What's wrong, Gaara?"_

"_Let it go," he whispers. "Please."_

"_But Gaara, you said you wanted to go fishing with me. Catching a fish is the whole point." The fish flaps, wet scales gleaming in the sun. Yashamaru observes it calmly. "They say fish can't feel pain, you know. The struggling is just a reflex."_

_Gaara doesn't know who "they" are, but he thinks "they" are full of shit. How could they possibly know what goes on in the fish's mind? "I just don't want to kill it. That's all. Can't we put it back? I—I'm sorry. I know it's silly…"_

"_It's all right." Yashamaru smiles and caresses his face with one hand. "You're such a sensitive boy."_

_The fish is still flapping. He sees its gills flare, wet and red. It is struggling to breathe, suffocating as they speak. "Please put it back?"_

"_Tell you what, Gaara. I'll put the fish back if you promise to do something for me later." His tone is playful, but his eyes are hungry._

_Gaara agrees. He is resigned to this, anyway. This is always part of it, the price he pays for being held and spoken to in a gentle voice. Yashamaru smiles and calls him a good boy. Then he carefully removes the hook from the fish's gaping mouth and throws it back into the lake._

_Later, as Gaara opens his mouth for Yashamaru, he thinks about the fish swimming back to its home below the water, back to its family. To distract himself from the uncomfortable pressure on the back of his throat, he tries to imagine he's there too, at the bottom of the lake, in its cool blue depths, far away from what's happening to him._

_He wishes he had a better imagination. He can still feel it._

_When it's over, Yashamaru holds him and tells him what a good job he did. Gaara wishes he could rinse out his mouth, but Yashamaru does not seem to like it when he does that right away. As if it's an insult. As if Gaara is supposed to pretend that he tastes like strawberry ice cream or something. So he tries to just enjoy being held and ignore the lingering taste._

_It's always bitter._

_

* * *

__Gaara does not like killing. He doesn't wish harm on anyone, even those who hurt him. But a monster lives inside him, and the monster is another story._

_The monster likes pain, likes fear, licks it up like something gooey and sweet. The monster would like to kill all the people who laugh at him and hate him and call him names—kill them slowly and watch the light die from their eyes, those same eyes that look at him with contempt and fear every day at school._

_The monster would like to kill Yashamaru, too. Because Yashamaru hurts him, does things that make him feel confused and ashamed. But Gaara will not let that happen. Because in spite of all he has done, Yashamaru is the only person who really gives a damn about him._

_So he locks the monster deep inside him, walls it up, separates it from the rest of his consciousness. It was born of Gaara's heart, but by this point it has grown into a separate being—a dark sentience slithering at the bottom of his brain, a thing of red eyes and sharp teeth and endless hunger. He _can _suppress it. But it is difficult. Every day at school, the taunts and jeers of his classmates echo in his ears, and even after school is over and he is alone in his room, those same taunts echo in his brain. There is no relief. Even the pills that his father orders him to take don't help much._

_As the months go by, it becomes more and more difficult to sleep, and when he _does _sleep, strange things happen. Once he woke up in the middle of the street in his pajamas with no recollection of how he'd gotten there, and a terrible thought came to him—what if the monster took control of him when he slept? After all, with his conscious mind turned off, there was nothing to stop it. He lives in fear of the day his monster will escape._

_Then, one afternoon, it happens._

_The other boys have been bothering him a lot lately, and they usually wait for him outside after school. So on Friday afternoon, after his last class, he goes straight to the bathroom and hides there for a long time—maybe an hour, maybe longer. When he emerges, the halls are empty. He clutches the straps of his backpack in small, sweaty hands as he creeps down the empty hallway, past rows of lockers. He wishes, not for the first time, that he had the power to turn himself invisible._

_Maybe today he is in luck. Maybe his tormentors got tired of waiting._

"_Hey, fag."_

_Gaara freezes. His hands tighten on the straps of his bag, and his breathing quickens. He turns to see three boys standing in the hall behind him. He starts to walk again, hoping that he can still escape, but the boy's voice stops him: "Don't walk away when I'm talking to you."_

_The other boys smile like sharks._

"_I have to go," says Gaara, backing away. "I have to get home."_

"_What's your rush?"_

_The boys stride toward him. He breaks into a run, but they are too fast. One grabs his arms and slams him against the locker. Gaara struggles. "Let me go!"_

_A hand grabs his chin and twists his head around. The boy leans in, studying his face. "Why do you wear that black shit around your eyes? Don't you know makeup is for girls?"_

"_I…it's not makeup…I just look like this…"_

"_Well then what's wrong with you? Do you have a disease or something? You look like a freak."_

"_I don't know…I…please, just let me go…"_

"_I still say it's makeup. I say we need to wash that shit off your face."_

_They laugh. Rough hands drag him down the hall, into the boys' bathroom, into the stall. Those hands force him down to his knees in front of a toilet. Fingers slide into his hair, grip it tight and wrench his head back._

_Gaara gasps for breath, tears stinging his eyes. "Why are you doing this?" he asks, his voice choked. "Why do you hate me? I've never hurt you. Why don't you just leave me alone?"_

"_Shut up." The hand tightens on his hair and shoves his head down into the toilet. Water floods his eyes, his nose and mouth. He can't breathe. Panic flutters in his chest. He struggles, but they won't let go. They just laugh and push his face deeper. His chest starts to hurt, and his head spins from the lack of air…_

_And something rises up from the depths of his mind, something that is not Gaara. For awhile, all is black. And from the abyss deep inside himself, he hears the boys screaming._

_When he opens his eyes, the tiles are spattered red, and someone is sobbing. A boy huddles in the corner of the bathroom, one hand pressed to his bleeding face, his eyes wide and filled with tears. The other boys are nowhere to be seen._

_Gaara stares. Blood soaks the front of the boy's shirt. Blood seeps between his fingers. When he pulls his hand away, Gaara sees a ragged flap of skin hanging from his cheek. "Go away," says the boy, his voice slurred. Exposed muscles jerk and twitch as he speaks._

"_What happened?" Gaara asks, alarmed. "Are you all right?" He stretches out a hand._

"_Monster!" he shouts through his tears. "Don't come near me! Just go away! _Go away!_"_

_Gaara flinches back. The words hit his heart like an arrow, and he presses a hand over the wrenching pain in his chest. Then he notices the hot, iron taste on his tongue. He wipes his mouth and stares at the blood on his palm. Horrified realizes dawns in his mind—_I did this.

_He turns and runs, runs away from the sobbing boy, the blood-spattered tiles. But he can't run from the thing inside him._

* * *

Gaara lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep; couldn't escape the memories pulling at his mind. But then, that was nothing new.

Beside him, Shikamaru snored softly. His hair, freed from its usual ponytail, spilled across the pillow, dark and shiny as a crow's wing. Gaara studied his friend's sleeping face.

_Friend. My friend. _Just thinking the words still felt so strange, so new—still sent a tremor of astonished pleasure through his soul.

All Gaara's life, people had looked at him with contempt. Even before the monster first surfaced, his peers had always hated him. He'd long since given up trying to figure out why. Over the years, he'd tried different things: dressing in normal clothes, wearing all black, being friendly, being aloof. Ultimately, nothing changed. They hated him for some reason he couldn't comprehend, something that was outside of his control.

Yet somehow, Shikamaru was different. And because he accepted Gaara, others had begun to accept him as well: Chouji, Ino, the people they'd gone to the mall with the other day. For the first time in his life, Gaara knew what it felt like to be treated like a normal person.

Of course it was too good to last. He'd understood that from the beginning. And now he'd done it. He'd let the monster slip out, and the men in white would come for him. What really scared him, though, was the idea that Shikamaru might somehow be hurt because of what he'd done.

Gaara knew what he had to do. His heart ached at the thought of giving up everything he'd gained in the past few days, but he'd known all along that this happiness was a fragile, fleeting thing. Gaara had been born for a life of pain and solitude: he'd come to accept this.

He slipped out of bed and into a pair of jeans, then put on his shoes as quietly as possible. He crept toward the door…but a hand caught his arm and pulled him back into bed. Shikamaru's breath tickled his cheek. "Where are you going?" he murmured, his voice still fuzzy with sleep.

"Nowhere."

"You're wearing shoes."

"I…"

"Please don't leave me, Gaara. Please don't go away."

Gaara's breath caught in his throat. "I—I just—I don't want to be any trouble…"

"You're not. Please stay. I need you."

A strange feeling washed over him at the sound of that soft, pleading voice. "Why?" he whispered. "There's nothing I can give you. You already have friends. You can take care of yourself. And you won't let me give you sex. So why?"

"I can't explain it…I just…I need to look at you, I need to touch you and hear your voice. I need to hold you. Stay." He stroked Gaara's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Promise?"

Gaara hesitated, then nodded. "I promise."

Shikamaru pulled him close and rested his chin atop Gaara's head.

"I still don't understand how you can stand to touch me after what you saw. How you can just…accept it. I've been living with it for years, and I can't accept it myself. Why aren't you more scared?"

A long pause. Then, "You want to know the truth?"

Gaara tensed. He held his breath, waiting for the coming blow, waiting for the words that would shatter him.

"What happened today scared me shitless. I'm probably going to have nightmares. The image of you covered in blood, grinning like that, and that look in your eyes…even if I never see it again, I'll never forget it. Just thinking about it now gives me chills. And when I first saw that other face staring out through yours, a part of me wanted to run away."

"I knew it," Gaara whispered, and began to tremble. "You hate me. You hate me like everyone else."

"Can't you feel my arms around you? Would I be holding you like this right now if I hated you?"

"You…you don't?"

"No, I don't hate you, Gaara. Not a bit."

"But…you said you were afraid."

"I'm afraid of a lot of things. It doesn't mean I can't still be your friend. That force inside you…it's part of you, but it's not the whole you. I'm not really sure how to deal with it yet or what to do, but one thing's for damn sure. I'm not going to run away and abandon you now. I can face the monster for you. I _want _to face it. I want to protect you. It's crazy, isn't it? I'm scared of you—of that other you, I mean—but somehow that just makes me want to protect you even more."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just…since I met you, everything has felt different. If I run away the moment things start getting difficult, then what kind of man am I? What kind of human being am I?"

Gaara stared at him. For a moment, he couldn't speak. "I've never met anyone like you," he whispered. "I don't understand you at all."

Shikamaru touched Gaara's cheek. "Ditto." He smiled. "It's a good thing people don't have to understand each other to like each other. Right?"

* * *

The days passed and became weeks.

At first, Shikamaru's heart-rate skyrocketed whenever the phone rang, whenever he heard footsteps in the outside hall. Each time it happened, a part of him was convinced it was the police coming to take Gaara away. Once, he saw a cop car pull into the parking lot below and he'd actually debating just taking Gaara and making a run for it...to where, he had no idea. But as it turned out, the police had only come due to a complaint about some guy on the fourth floor who wouldn't stop playing his heavy metal at full volume. The cops never came knocking on Shikamaru's door, and each time the phone rang, it was just Chouji telling Shikamaru when he'd be home that night.

Gradually, the knot of paranoia inside him began to unwind. Maybe those guys hadn't gone to the police after all. Or maybe they'd been too drunk at the time to remember what he and Gaara looked like. In any case, it looked like they were safe…at least for now.

Still, he kept Gaara close. He was afraid to let him out of his sight for long, afraid he'd vanish forever. At night, they shared a bed chastely, holding each other or spooning under the covers, but that was the closest they came to intimacy. He wasn't ready for anything more—and neither, he suspected, was Gaara. Though he knew his roommate would have been more than willing, Shikamaru wanted to prove to him that the bond between them was about more than sex…that it was possible to just be held and treated kindly by someone without paying them back in blowjobs.

But Shikamaru's attraction to him hadn't diminished. If anything, it had grown stronger, and trying to deny it to himself would have been pointless. When he jerked off, he never thought about girls anymore. He thought about Gaara. About that smooth almond-cream skin. About those gorgeous sea-green eyes, that soft, deep voice. He imagined Gaara's body stretched out on his bed, those pale cheeks flushed, those lips parted, that creamy skin glistening with sweat.

And he found himself wondering just how this was possible. Shikamaru had never been attracted to a boy before. Had he been bisexual all along and somehow never realized it? Or was it possible to turn gay? It sounded stupid when he thought about it like that. Of course you couldn't just wake up one morning and suddenly be gay.

Yet here he was, obsessed with a boy. An uncommonly beautiful boy, but a boy nonetheless.

One morning, he decided to try an experiment. He shut himself in the bathroom with a porn mag, pulled down his pants and boxers and wrapped a hand around his dick. He was going to jerk off to girls this time. Surely he was still at least capable of that.

He flipped through the magazine, but he couldn't get into it. Too fake—all those rail-thin, airbrushed supermodels with their silicon-inflated beach ball tits, posing in uncomfortable looking positions and pouting like sulky children. Maybe he was an anomaly among males, but he'd always found real girls sexier. He set the magazine aside and tried to rely on his imagination instead. He thought about all the things that usually turned him on—a girl's tongue moistening pink lips, nipples poking through a too-thin shirt, the soft roundness of feminine calves and thighs…

_Sea-green eyes, slim hips, silky red hair…_

A whiff of perfume, the gentle sway of a woman's hips as she walked…

_That deep, velvet-smooth voice whispering his name…_

A flash of snow white panties beneath a too-short skirt...

_Gaara's head tilted back to expose his slender throat, his eyes closed in pleasure…_

Fuck it.

Shikamaru lost himself in a vision of Gaara and came into his hand twenty seconds later. He stared at the milky fluid sliding down his palm and sighed. Maybe he _was _turning gay.

Or maybe he was thinking about this all wrong. Maybe gay or straight had nothing to do with it. Maybe sometimes, the bond of love transcended the boundaries of a person's sex.

-To be continued


	9. Chapter 9

Shikamaru was having a pleasant dream. He and Gaara were riding through the clouds on the back of a friendly dragon and sharing a long string of strawberry-flavored licorice when his cell phone rang, waking him with a jolt. He groaned, pushed his hair out of his eyes, and fumbled around, his fingers wandering over the bedside table until they encountered cool, slick plastic. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he brought to his ear and pushed the ON button. "Um, hello?"

"Shikamaru, were you asleep?" It was his mom, and she sounded pissed—big surprise there.

"Yeah."

"It's two o'clock in the afternoon! What are you doing in bed?"

"Sleeping."

"Don't be a smart aleck."

"Okay." He'd learned a long time ago that arguing with Mom never got you anywhere. You just listened, said "okay" in the right places, and eventually she'd let you go.

"Anyway, I just wanted to remind you that you're having dinner with your father and I today at four o'clock. Of course, I guess that would make it more like lunch for you." She sighed. "Honestly, what sort of life are you living, staying up all night and sleeping through the morning?"

Shikamaru considered saying something like, "I'm a stripper down at the club," but he knew from experience that his mom didn't find such remarks humorous. Instead he said, "Couldn't sleep last night."

"Out partying with your friends, no doubt. Don't you know how important a good night's sleep is? It affects your health. All this late-night partying will catch up to you later in life."

"I told you, I don't really go to parties." That was the truth. Loud music and crowds gave him a headache. "I just stayed up too late. Um...I gotta get ready. See you soon."

"Remember, four o'clock. We're having spaghetti and meatballs. And coconut pie for dessert."

"Okay. Bye Mom. I love you."

"I love you too," she said, and somehow managed to make even _that_ sound pissy. Then she hung up.

Shikamaru sighed and set the phone on the bedside table. He realized Gaara was awake and watching him. "Sorry about that."

"It's all right." Gaara yawned. His red hair was mussed, his eyes still cloudy with sleep. "That was your mother?"

"Yeah."

"What is she like?"

"She's the most troublesome person I know. I love her and all, but she nags me to death about everything. But then, maybe that's how most mothers are."

"I wouldn't know." Gaara averted his gaze. "I never knew my mother."

"I'm sorry. Is she…"

"She died giving birth to me. I think that's why my father always disliked me. Part of it, anyway."

Shikamaru didn't know what to say. After a moment, he wrapped his arms around Gaara.

Gaara leaned his head on Shikamaru's chest. "What did she say?" he murmured.

"Hm?"

"Your mother."

"Oh. She just wanted to remind me that I'm supposed to have dinner with them tonight--my folks, I mean. I should probably start getting ready soon."

"When will you be back?"

"Probably not 'til late. I figure I'll stay most of the evening. But Chouji should be around, so you won't be alone." He still hadn't told Chouji about what had happened in the field. He wasn't quite sure how to bring it up. "I'll leave some money on the table so you can order takeout if you want to."

"Okay."

Shikamaru gave Gaara another hug. "You can go back to sleep if you like. I didn't mean to wake you." Gaara nodded and gave him a faint smile. His smiles were easy to miss if you weren't looking carefully—so subtle, so fleeting—but each one warmed Shikamaru to the core.

He went into the kitchen to make himself some coffee. The door creaked open, and he looked up to see Chouji enter, a troubled look on his face. "Hey," said Shikamaru. "What's up?"

"Nothing." Chouji took off his jacket and sat on the couch. He stared into space, his eyes distant.

Chouji almost always wore a smile. It was rare to see him looking so solemn. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He paused, then sighed. "It's Ino."

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened, really. I'm just worried. Something's going on with her, I think."

Shikamaru tensed. Had his suspicions been right, after all? Or...was Chouji talking about something else? "What is it?"

"I don't know if I should even talk about it. I mean, it's kind of personal, and it's not like I really _know _anything for sure. I'm just worried. About her."

"Do you think she...does this have something to do with Sasuke?"

"No, no. I don't think she's even talked to him since they broke up. It's...something else." Chouji rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor. He opened his mouth, then shook his head. "No, I shouldn't have even brought it up. I need to talk to her about this before I say anything. It's probably nothing, anyway."

Shikamaru lay a hand on Chouji's shoulder. "Just so you know, if you ever _do _need to talk about it, I'm here."

Chouji looked up and gave him a tiny smile. "Thanks, Shikamaru."

"Don't mention it." He gave Chouji's shoulder a brief squeeze and studied his face. It seemed unnatural to see him looking so dejected, so pensive. He wanted to cheer him up. "I've got something for you."

Chouji looked up and tilted his head slightly. "What is it?"

"Hang on a sec." Shikamaru opened the closet, pulled out a small package and handed it to Chouji. "I was planning to give this to you at Christmas, but I decided it couldn't wait."

Chouji eyed the package, turning it over in his hands. He peeled off the wrapping, and his face lit up. He leaped to his feet. "Oh my God! The Star Wars Holiday Special! Where did you find this?"

Shikamaru grinned. "They were selling bootlegs at that comic convention."

"This is awesome! Do you know how hard it is to find copies of this? This is like, the most famously bad holiday special in the history of humankind! I can't wait to see it. This is going to be hilarious. Do you want to watch it with me?"

"I can't now, I have to go to my folks' for dinner, but I should be back around ten. Maybe then?"

"Sounds great." He beamed. Then he looked around. "Hey, where's Gaara?"

"Still in the bedroom, I think. We slept kinda late."

"How's he been? Is he okay? He always seems kinda quiet when I see him."

"That's just how he is. He doesn't have much experience being friends with people. But he's trying. I think he's getting better. He smiles more than he used to. He's got a really nice smile, actually." Shikamaru realized what he'd just said and looked away. Heat rose into his cheeks. "Um, uh…I mean…" He rubbed the back of his neck, fumbling for words. He supposed it was obvious that there was something more than friendship going on between him and Gaara. After all, they'd been sharing a bed, even if they hadn't really _done _anything. But still, he'd never discussed it with Chouji. He wasn't sure how.

"Hey, it's okay," said Chouji. "I think it's great that you found someone."

For a moment, Shikamaru just stared, mouth open slightly. Then he smiled. "Thanks," he said quietly. Chouji was the kindest and most accepting person he'd ever known. It didn't phase him in the slightest that his best friend might be in love with another guy.

The thought startled Shikamaru. _Was _he in love with Gaara?

He glanced at the clock. "Shit, I've gotta go. I'm going to be late. Wait, um…do you have work today? Are you going to need the car?"

"It's cool, I can get a ride with Kiba. We're working the same shift."

"Okay. I'm taking the car then." Shikamaru drank his coffee so quickly he burned his tongue, took a shower, toweled himself off and got dressed. He glanced into the bedroom. Gaara lay in bed, eyes closed. Shikamaru couldn't tell if he was sleeping, but he decided not to disturb him, just in case. He left the apartment.

* * *

His mother greeted him at the door when he arrived. "You're late!"

"Nice to see you too, Mom."

She sighed and hugged him. "Come in, dear." She ushered him into the house, and the aroma of spaghetti sauce tickled his nostrils. Shikamaru's mouth watered. His mom might be the most troublesome person he knew, but he had to admit she was a fantastic cook.

His dad sat on the living room couch, doing a crossword puzzle. As Shikamaru entered, he set it down. "Yo." He stood with a grunt, winced and placed a hand on his lower back.

His dad had worked in construction for most of his life before a back injury forced him into early retirement. Now he mostly lived on Mom's income. When Shikamaru was a small child, his mother had never worked, but after Dad's injury she'd gone back to college and now she was the superintendent of his old school. He'd escaped just in time, it seemed...not that she didn't do a good job, but being under her authority at home _and _school would have been a bit much. To put it mildly.

They went into the kitchen. The table had already been set. His mom dished up spaghetti with homemade meatballs and set a loaf of Italian bread out, and they sat down to eat.

Shikamaru swallowed a mouthful of spaghetti. "It's really good."

"Glad you like it. I made enough so that you can take leftovers home."

"Thanks, Mom."

"So what have you been up to?" asked his father.

Shikamaru shrugged. "Not much. The usual." He knew the answer would exasperate his parents—especially his mom, who liked minute-to-minute updates on his life—but he couldn't exactly tell them the truth. _Took in an abused teenager, fell in love with him, got attacked by homophobes, and now I'm questioning my own sexuality and wondering when the police are going to show up at my door asking about Gaara and about the guy whose nose he bit off… _Yeah, that would go over well.

"Are you working?" his mother asked.

Shikamaru winced. Here it comes, he thought. The old, _When are you going to get a real job? _routine. "If by 'working' you mean a nine-to-five job, then no. But I find ways to make money. Chouji and I get by just fine, really."

"You know you're going to have to get a real job eventually," his father said. "Putting it off will just make it more difficult when the time comes. Someday you'll have a mortgage to pay and a family to provide for."

"That's right," said his mother. "You need some experience to put on your resume, especially since you didn't graduate from high school. And by the way, it isn't too late to go back and finish if you change your mind…"

"Can we wait 'til after dinner before we start talking about this?"

"All right, finish your spaghetti."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then his mother asked, "So tell me, is there a girl in your life?"

"Well, Chouji's new girlfriend's been hanging around a lot lately…"

"You know what I mean. Do _you _have someone special?"

He hesitated. "Well, I don't have a girlfriend."

"Are you dating?"

"No. Not really." Shikamaru picked at his spaghetti, but he'd lost his appetite.

"You know, Hizashi's daughter is very pretty…"

"Can we please talk about something else?"

"Well, what else do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know. Just...lately I feel like every time I come over here, you want to interrogate me about my personal life or try to set me up with one of your friend's daughters."

His father gave him a warning look.

"Well, dear, we're your parents," his mother said. "And naturally we're concerned about the lack of direction in your life. You're not a child anymore. You can't spend all day playing video games and watching cartoons and…I don't even know what you do with your time. But you need to make some changes."

"I like my life the way it is. Why change it?" said Shikamaru. Beneath the table, his dad stepped on his foot. The message was loud and clear: _Shut up_. Shikamaru was breaking the rule that had always kept their home life relatively peaceful—Don't Argue With Mom. And usually, he followed the rule. Arguing was troublesome. It was easier to just let the criticisms roll off his back and then go on doing what he'd always done—but somehow, he couldn't keep silent anymore. "I'm making enough money to pay the rent and keep myself fed. That's all I need. It's not like I'm living in your house or borrowing money from you all the time."

"But you're wasting your potential! You're such a bright boy. I still can't believe you're not planning to go to college. You could accomplish so much more, could _be _so much more."

"Having a big income wouldn't make me happier. I don't need expensive clothes or a sports car or a giant house with a cleaning staff. I'm fine with what I have."

"Maybe for now, but what about when you have a wife and children?"

"I've told you before, I don't know if I want children. I don't even know if I'm going to get married. Why plan my whole life around something that might not even happen?"

His mother flung her hands into the air. "So you're just going to be alone your whole life?"

"I'm not alone. I have Chouji. And…" He stopped himself. He'd already decided he wasn't going to say anything about Gaara; he didn't want to open that can of beans, at least not tonight. Too soon. Too complicated.

But his mother didn't notice his slip. "I don't know how you can sit there and tell me that you're satisfied with this empty, shallow existence of yours. Playing your guitar, hanging out with your friends, watching TV—is that really all you want out of life?"

"What's so horrible about that? I'm not hurting anyone."

"But you aren't making anything of yourself. Are you really happy with this?"

"I don't know, okay? I don't know if I'm happy, but I don't think that following the life script is going to _make _me happy. I don't know what will. That's something I just have to figure out on my own."

"Why are you being so difficult? I'm just trying to help you actualize your potential..."

"'Actualize my potential?' What is this, a board meeting? Am I one of your staff now?"

She stood and planted both hands on the table, hard enough to make the plates rattle. "Don't you dare take that tone with me! This is reality, Shikamaru! You aren't a child. You've got to start acting like a man and living a real adult life."

"What's so great about adult life? Who even defines what that means? Everyone just assumes that you _have _to do all these things, but most adults I know are unhappy and stressed out and bitter. I mean, are _you _happy?"

"We aren't talking about me, we're talking about you!"

"And I'm asking, why does it have to be this way?"

"Because that's how the world is!"

"_Why?"_

"God, you're like a four-year-old! 'Why, why, why.' I can't stand the way you've become!" She stormed out of the room.

His dad sighed and rose to his feet, wincing as his back cracked. "I'd better go talk to her." He glanced at Shikamaru. "You should have left it alone, son," he muttered and left the room.

Shikamaru sat alone in the kitchen, staring down at his half-eaten spaghetti, his stomach a hard, tight ball, his eyes stinging.

-To be continued


	10. Chapter 10

Shikamaru scraped the remnants of his dinner into the trash, then washed and dried his plate and opened the sliding glass door that led from the kitchen to the back porch.

Twilight painted the sky in soft purples and blues. He rested his arms on the porch railing and stared at the backyard. He could hear his parents' voices drifting from their half-open bedroom window.

"I just don't know what to do with him!" his mom shouted. "I don't understand him. I can't talk to him. Do you know what it's like to feel so alienated from someone who came out of your body? It's like he's not even my son anymore!"

He heard his dad's voice, low and calm, saying something he couldn't make out. Then his mom's voice again, quieter now, and his dad's reply.

_It's like he's not even my son anymore. _The words echoed in his heart, and something inside him ached.

A few minutes later, he heard the door slide open and looked over his shoulder. His dad stepped out onto the porch and stood beside him, elbows resting on the railing.

"How's Mom?" asked Shikamaru.

"She said she wanted to be alone for awhile. Just give her some time. She'll cool down."

"I didn't want to upset her. I just…I wish I could spend time with you guys and not have it always turn into this intense scrutiny of my life. Every time I talk to her I feel like she's measuring and judging me."

"She means well. She only does this because she wants you to have the best life you can. And…well…she's going through a difficult time right now, so she's been a little emotional."

"Why, what's happening?"

"The change." He paused. "You know what I mean by that, don't you? She's…"

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled, and shuffled his feet. "I mean…I know what you mean, but…I didn't realize."

"It's not like we were ever really planning another child—we both agreed that one was enough—but now that the choice officially doesn't exist anymore…" He shrugged.

Shikamaru stared at his feet. His fingers tightened on the railing. "You can go ahead and say it."

"Say what?"

"I'm a disappointment to you. To both of you. I'm not going to have an impressive career or a family of my own or anything. Your only child is a dud."

"You know that isn't what I meant. I'm proud to call you my son. I might not agree with all the choices you've made, but you're smart and capable and you care about the people close to you." He paused. "I know that right now, you don't think you want a family, but maybe that will change as you get older. Just keep an open mind."

Shikamaru didn't reply. He knew it was pointless to argue. There _was _a time, he recalled, when he'd wanted to get married and have kids…or maybe he'd just always assumed it would happen. Because that was normal. Because that was what everyone did. As he'd grown, though, he'd begun to question a lot of things.

His dad pulled an amber pill bottle from his back pocket and dry-swallowed one. He noticed Shikamaru watching. "Vicaden," he said. "For my back."

"I didn't realize it still bothered you so much."

He shrugged. "Some injuries don't heal. They just become a part of you. The tricky part is accepting it—the pain, I mean. But you do, and you find ways to keep living in spite of it."

With his thumbnail, Shikamaru picked at a loose splinter of wood on the railing. He found himself thinking about Gaara. Would he ever really heal? Injuries of the heart were even harder to mend than those of the body.

For several minutes they stood silently side by side, leaning on the railing. Shikamaru stared at the empty doghouse in the corner of the yard, where his old black lab, Shadow, had once slept. Then he looked up at the stars and cleared his throat. "Dad…"

"Yes?"

He paused, debating whether to say what was in his mind, then finally asked, "How do you know when you're in love with someone?"

His dad raised his eyebrows, but replied without hesitation: "When you see her face in the clouds."

"What?"

"As a young man, I used to spend a lot of time just laying out in fields or on roofs, cloud-watching. I'd see things—castles, roads, alien landscapes, centaurs, dragons…but I didn't usually see people. I didn't see faces. Then I met her. And suddenly I kept seeing her there. I still saw the other things, but she was always in there somewhere. She was always on my mind. Even if I wasn't always consciously thinking of her, she was there." He smiled. "So who's the lucky girl?"

Shikamaru made a noncommittal sound in his throat. "It's no one specific. I just wondered."

His father chuckled. "Right."

Another few minutes passed. They didn't speak. Shikamaru looked at the spray of stars above and wondered what Gaara was doing right now, if he was feeling all right. "Maybe we should go inside soon."

"Do you want to stay the night? Tomorrow is Sunday. Your mother would like it if you went to church with us."

"You know I'm not really into organized religion."

"It would mean a lot to her."

Shikamaru rubbed the back of his neck. His dad was pretty easygoing about spiritual matters—always had been—but his mom had become more and more devoutly religious over time, and Shikamaru knew his own lack of definite belief still troubled her. At age thirteen, when he'd confessed that he wasn't sure he believed in a God, she'd started crying.

It seemed at times that everything he did, everything he was, somehow disappointed or hurt her.

"I just feel so out of place in church. It doesn't seem right pretending to feel something I don't," he said.

"Well, I can't force you to go. Just think about it."

Shikamaru was silent for a moment longer, staring at his feet.

"So when do we get to meet her?"

"Huh?"

"This girl."

He winced. "Dad, I told you…"

"Can't fool your old man, son."

Shikamaru sighed "Okay. Okay, maybe there is someone. But we're not a couple. We're not even really dating. It's just…I dunno. It's complicated, and I'm feeling things I'm not used to feeling, and it's really fucking up my head."

"Love can do that. But it's worth it, in the long run. I know women can be difficult to figure out, and I know they can seem like a pain in the ass at times, but when you find the right one…it's really something. Men need women, even if we don't like to admit it." He chuckled. "But then, they need us, too."

Shikamaru stared into space. His mouth had gone dry, and his hands were shaking.

"Son?"

Shikamaru drew in a slow, deep breath. "What if I told you it wasn't a girl?"

Silence. After a moment, Shikamaru looked up to see his father staring at him, mouth open slightly, eyes wide. "You mean…"

"Yeah."

"Well." He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. Color rose into his cheeks. "It isn't uncommon for boys your age to be…curious about that sort of thing. Lots of guys experiment. I mean, I didn't, but I knew some people who did. But I want you to understand, just because it didn't work out with those other girls..."

"It isn't like that, Dad. I'm not experimenting. I'm in love with him." It was the first time he'd really admitted it. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew it was true. "I didn't expect or decide it. It just happened."

His father drew in a slow, deep breath. Another moment of silence, thick with awkwardness. Then: "So you're…" He faltered, seemed to choke on the word, then asked, "You're attracted to men?"

"Not men. Just this one guy. I can't really explain it. I've always been attracted to girls, but this…I've never felt anything like it. It's way more intense."

"Oh." More silence.

"Say something already."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Something. I just told you I'm in love with someone. Aren't you happy for me?"

"Well, yes. I mean, yes, of course. But…I can't pretend that this issue doesn't exist."

"Why does it even have to be an issue?"

"I just don't know what to think or how I'm supposed to feel right now. I never imagined…I mean, you never seemed…I just never expected this. Not that I have anything against it. I mean, I've had friends who were…that way. But…"

"But what?"

He gripped the porch railing, his knuckles white. "I don't know how your mother is going to react to this. Maybe—maybe you should wait before you tell her. See what happens in the next few months."

Shikamaru's jaws clenched, and his hands balled into fists. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, and he blinked them away. "You're hoping it's a phase? That I'll just grow out of it and she'll never have to know that her son's a queer? Is that it?"

"Shikamaru…"

"You know what? Fine. I won't tell her. I won't talk about it ever again. I don't give a shit what you think or whether or not you approve." He turned away, a hard, bitter knot in his chest, and walked off the porch, across the yard.

His father caught his arm. "Wait."

Shikamaru tensed. "Let go."

"Don't walk away from me."

"Fuck you!" Shikamaru shouted in his face, his voice hoarse and thick with tears. "You're a hypocrite! You pretend to be all liberal and mellow, then you blindside me with this fucking prejudice! I thought I could talk to you! I thought I could trust you, but now you're looking at me like I'm a fucking stranger!_"_

His father's calm expression never wavered. He wiped a few flecks of spittle from his cheek, then said, "I know you're upset right now and I know it's my fault—I didn't handle this well—so I'm just going to pretend you didn't say that. Can we start over? Do you want to come back on the porch and talk about this?"

Shikamaru stared at the ground, his throat tight. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "What's there to talk about?"

"I think there's a great deal to talk about. Like who is this boy? How long have you known him? What's his name?"

Shikamaru took a deep breath. "His name is Gaara," he murmured. "I—I've known him about a month now. He's…I don't even know how to describe him. He's not like anyone I've ever met. When I found him, he was alone and had no place to go, so I let him stay with me and Chouji. And now I can't stop thinking about him. It's been really confusing and...I haven't really told anyone else yet. About how I feel. I mean, I think Chouji's kind of figured it out, but it's a little hard to talk about."

"How does this Gaara feel about you?"

"I think he might feel the same. But I don't know for sure."

"I see." A pause. "I'm sorry about the way I reacted. I was just...very surprised."

"So..." His voice shook a little, despite his efforts to control it. "You don't think there's something wrong with me?"

"No. I don't think that."

Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. "What about Mom? How is she going to take this?"

"I don't know. But it is what it is. This is your life, not hers."

"Don't tell her yet, okay? I want to tell her myself, but I…I just don't know how."

His father nodded. They stood in silence for a minute, then his dad said, "Will you stay the night?"

"Sure," Shikamaru murmured.

* * *

Later, he lay in his old room, in his old bed, his hands folded behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. Spending the night here always felt strange, as if he had gone back in time, almost. There was his old Star Wars poster, his old row of He-Man action figures standing on the desk—things he'd loved as a kid and then kept for ironic value as a teenager (except maybe on some level he still really liked them). All just as he'd left it when he moved out a year and a half ago…except nothing was quite the same, because he was seeing it through different eyes.

He called Chouji on his cell phone and said he wouldn't be back 'til morning. When he asked if Gaara was there, Chouji said he was sleeping. "He sleeps a lot these days," Chouji remarked.

"Well, he said he almost never slept back at his father's house. Maybe he's catching up on all the hours he missed."

"Do you want to talk to him?"

Shikamaru paused, tempted, then said, "I probably shouldn't wake him up. Can you just tell him I'll be back tomorrow morning?"

"Sure."

"Thanks." He hung up and gazed out the window.

He should tell his mom about Gaara, he thought. But he knew he wouldn't. Not tonight, not tomorrow, anyway.

Maybe it was too soon to say anything. It wasn't like he and Gaara were really a couple.

Or were they? Shikamaru was in love with Gaara, and he was pretty sure that Gaara felt just as strongly about him. And they spent an awful lot of time together. Even if they didn't kiss each other on the lips or touch in any kind of blatantly sexual way, they'd been sharing a bed almost every night. Last he checked, straight guys didn't spoon and cuddle under the covers.

But then, Gaara was so starved for touch and affection, so desperately lonely that he'd probably accept any kind of attention at this point. With his lack of social experience, he had no sense of what was normal in a heterosexual friendship…or _any _kind of relationship, really. It was possible that Gaara wasn't attracted to him physically, that he'd only offered sex because he needed a friend so badly and he viewed sex as the only way to cement a bond between himself and another person.

God, this was confusing. What defined a couple, anyway? Where was the line between friendship and love?

Shikamaru rolled over and closed his eyes. But sleep was a long time in coming.

-To be continued


	11. Chapter 11

He left the next morning after breakfast and went back to his apartment. Chouji was at work; he wouldn't be back 'til six. Shikamaru entered and tiptoed into the bedroom.

Gaara was curled up in bed, hugging a pillow. His soft breathing echoed through the room. Shikamaru approached the bed and paused, gazing down at him. Gaara was sleeping so peacefully. He hated to disturb him. He started to turn away, but was stopped by a drowsy voice: "Shikamaru?"

"Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"It's all right." He sat up, his eyes still fuzzy with sleep, and reached out to take Shikamaru's hand. He tugged, and Shikamaru climbed into bed with him. Gaara slipped his slender arms around his waist and nuzzled his chest. "How was it? Your visit with your parents, I mean."

"Troublesome."

"What happened?"

"Nothing, really. It's just that every time I go there, they scrutinize me to death. Mostly my mom. She's always got a detailed list of the various ways I'm screwing up my life and disappointing them. I mean, that's not exactly how she says it, but that's the idea." He met Gaara's gaze and forced a smile. "Sorry. I don't mean to unload on you like that. I'm fine, really."

Gaara's brow furrowed. "If it's always like that, why do you go there?"

"Well, they're my parents. I can't just cut them out of my life. And I still love them. It's just hard to deal with them sometimes. I've always envied Chouji because his folks are so easy-going. They like him the way he is. I've never seen them get pissed or lecture him or anything. And Chouji's the same way. Very warm and accepting. Maybe that's why he and I always got along."

Gaara trailed his slender fingers up and down Shikamaru's arm, and Shikamaru watched, entranced by that simple movement. The sensation sent pleasurable little chills up his spine.

"How did you meet him?" Gaara asked.

"Huh?"

"Chouji."

"Oh." Shikamaru paused, collecting his thoughts. "Well, back in second grade, Chouji and I were always the last ones picked for gym class. He was always kinda chubby and clumsy, and I was kind of scrawny. Plus I just didn't care enough about gym to make an effort. If someone threw me the ball, I'd just stand there and let it bounce off me. Chouji would try to catch it, but always drop it. We were both people that no one else wanted. I guess that's how we first became friends. After class one day he looked kind of sad, so I made a joke to cheer him up. Then at recess we sat under the big oak tree at the far end of the playground and watched clouds, and he shared his potato chips with me. That was really the first time in my life I made a friend. I never reached out to people much, even back then. It just seemed like too much effort, and…God, did you hear what I just said?" He forced a chuckle. "I'm a terrible person, aren't I?"

"No," Gaara said quietly. "Why do you say that?"

"I'm just so fucking selfish. No wonder my folks are disappointed in me. I'm only kind to people when it suits me or when it's not too much work. And I'm a coward."

"I don't think you are."

"But I am. I'm afraid of so much."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, just life. I'm afraid of being an adult and afraid of taking responsibility for anything but myself and afraid of commitments and being bound to anything or anyone. I'm afraid of being overwhelmed and broken by the world. So I just avoid everything even slightly troublesome and shut everyone else out except those few people that I know I can deal with, and…" Shikamaru froze as Gaara placed a finger on his lips.

"You took me in when no one else would," Gaara said. "You cared for me when others shrank from me in fear. So why do you say that you're selfish and a coward?"

"I…" His voice shook. He realized, with surprise, that he was near tears. Maybe the argument with his mother had hit him harder than he realized, and he was just now starting to feel the full impact. "Because I am. I've been given so much, but I've done nothing with my life. I don't even have any values or beliefs, at least nothing I feel really strongly about. I'm no one."

"You aren't no one. You're Shikamaru."

"But what does that even mean? It's just a name. Just a string of syllables attached like a tag to this fucking void. At times I don't know if I even exist. I…" He took a deep breath. "Sorry, I barely know what I'm saying. I'm just in a weird mood right now, I guess. I'll be okay in a minute."

Gaara stared at his face for a moment. Then he leaned forward until his forehead almost touched Shikamaru's. "Look at my eyes. What do you see in them?"

He hesitated. There were many different ways he could answer that question. But Gaara was a literal person, not given to poetic flights of fancy, so Shikamaru gave him a literal answer. "I see myself. My reflection, I mean."

"I see mine in yours, too." Gaara reached up and framed Shikamaru's face between his hands. "You know…before I met you, I almost never got this close to someone. Close enough to see my reflection in their eyes, I mean. It's a strange feeling. Not really like looking at myself in a mirror. It makes me feel like…like you're seeing me. Like I'm real to you." His warm breath tickled Shikamaru's lips. "When you look at me, I know I exist. I see the proof there, in your eyes. Do you feel the same?"

"Yes," Shikamaru whispered.

Gaara's thumbs brushed softly across Shikamaru's cheeks. "You're my savior. My hero. Do you know that?"

"I…I'm _not _a hero. Not really. I'm just…"

"In my eyes, you are."

"Gaara…"

"I belong to you," he whispered.

Their mouths touched, and Shikamaru parted his lips. His eyes slid shut as the wet velvet of Gaara's tongue filled his mouth. A small, soft moan rose from his throat.

Gaara's hand moved down to his thigh and rubbed gently. Shikamaru felt his cock hardening, and his breath caught in his throat as Gaara's hand brushed his erection. Slender, pale hands pushed him gently to the bed. "Let me do this," he murmured, his lips still touching Shikamaru's, his eyes so close Shikamaru could see every subtle shade of blue and green within. Gaara rubbed his cock. "Please."

Shikamaru had lost all capacity to speak. He managed only a small, strangled sound.

Gaara's body slid down the length of his, and slender, deft fingers unbuttoned Shikamaru's jeans, then the front of his boxers, freeing his cock. Gaara rubbed his smooth cheek against that hard, hot flesh, and a wave of pleasure and weakness washed over Shikamaru. He shut his eyes and swallowed, hard, trying to regain some measure of control. "Gaara…"

"What do you want? I'll do anything."

Shikamaru took a deep breath and sat up. He rubbed his forehead. This was all wrong. He'd promised himself that he would wait—that he'd prove to Gaara that not every relationship was about sex. But Gaara was so beautiful. So damn beautiful. "What do _you _want?"

"Just to please you. Please, Shikamaru…" Gaara lay a hand on his thigh. His voice was low, soft, almost a purr. "You've done so much for me. If this is all I can give you in return, then I'll give it gladly. I _want_ to give you this. Why won't you let me?"

"I want this to be something we both enjoy, not just you letting me use your body. You've been used too much as it is."

"But I've been using _you_."

"For what?"

"Food. Shelter. Comfort. I've only been taking…and you just keep letting me. I know you want me. So why? Why not let me please you?"

"Because…damn it, because I know you're doing this because your perverted uncle trained you to think that you can't have love without being used by someone. I won't be like him."

"You're not." Again, he reached for Shikamaru's groin. "I _do _want this."

Shikamaru gently wrapped his fingers around Gaara's wrist. "You'll do anything?" he asked quietly.

"Anything."

"Lay back."

Gaara hesitated, then started to roll onto his stomach.

"No. Just on your back, like this." Shikamaru pushed him gently to the bed. "Just lay back and relax."

Gaara's brow furrowed in puzzlement, but he obeyed.

"Close your eyes," Shikamaru murmured, and Gaara's eyes slipped shut. Shikamaru kissed his left eyelid, very softly.

Gaara's breath caught in his throat, and a tremor ran through him. "That felt…nice," he whispered.

He kissed Gaara's right eyelid, letting his lips linger against it, feeling the small movements of his eye beneath that thin veil of flesh. A tiny moan escaped Gaara's throat. "You like that?" Shikamaru whispered.

"Y-yes." He paused. "Do it again?"

Shikamaru smiled and obliged, and Gaara rewarded him with another little moan. He kissed the corner of Gaara's mouth, his jaw. Gaara tilted his head back, and Shikamaru trailed kisses down that smooth, pale throat. He tugged the collar of Gaara's shirt down and kissed the small hollow between his collarbones.

Gaara's breathing quickened. A flush rose into his pale cheeks. Shikamaru could see his small, hard nipples outlined by the thin cotton of his t-shirt. He brushed a thumb across one, then rubbed in a slow circle around it. Gaara let out a soft gasp. "Is this okay?" Shikamaru asked quietly.

"Yes."

His thumb circled Gaara's nipple again. Then he pulled up Gaara's shirt, exposing his slim, pale upper body and those little pebble-hard nipples. Shikamaru leaned down and kissed one, then the other. He took one into his mouth and sucked. A strange feeling washed over him. He'd gone this far with one of his girlfriends, but of course, he'd never done anything remotely like this with a guy. It felt so strangely right.

Shikamaru glanced down and saw Gaara's erection straining against his boxers. Gently, Shikamaru tugged them down, exposing his sleek, pink cock. "Can I?" he whispered.

Gaara gave a tiny nod.

Shikamaru brushed his fingertips across the smooth shaft, and Gaara's cock jerked. Slowly, very slowly, Shikamaru curled his fingers around it. It pulsed in his hand, living steel sheathed in velvet-soft skin. A bead of clear fluid welled up from the slit at its tip. Shikamaru's gaze moved back to Gaara's face as he slid his fingers up and down the length of his cock. He watched his expression carefully, alert for any sign of discomfort.

"Mm…" Gaara closed his eyes. His lips parted, and a small, pink tongue crept out to moisten them.

"God, you're beautiful," Shikamaru whispered. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met. You know that?"

Gaara's eyes opened slowly. There was a soft, dreamy look in them. The flush in his cheeks grew brighter, and he made a small sound deep in his throat.

Shikamaru continued to slide his hand up and down Gaara's dick, looking into his eyes. "I just want to make you happy," he murmured. "I just want to make you feel good."

"Shikamaru…"

He lowered his head and ran his tongue over the head of Gaara's cock. Gaara let out a little gasp. Shikamaru opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around that hard, hot flesh.

"Oh wow," Gaara whispered, a dazed look in his eyes.

Somehow, Shikamaru suspected that no one had ever done this for Gaara before. And of course, Shikamaru himself had never given head, but how complicated could it really be? He'd eaten popsicles before. He slid his lips down the length of Gaara's cock, trying to keep his teeth out of the way. He got about two-thirds of the way down before his gag reflex kicked in, and he paused. Then he wrapped one hand around the base of Gaara's cock and continued to slide his lips up and down its length. He'd always imagined that cock would taste bitter, but it wasn't bad, really. It just tasted like skin--natural, faintly salty.

His own cock was hard and throbbing for release, but he ignored it. Trying to jerk himself off and suck Gaara off at the same time would take a bit more coordination than he had. So he just watched Gaara's face, drinking in all the subtle expressions that flitted through the depths of those eyes, like water-shadows dancing at the bottom of a swimming pool. He watched those soft, peach-colored lips move, as if Gaara were trying to speak, but couldn't quite focus enough to form words.

Shikamaru pulled back and licked his lips. "You okay?"

"Yes!" he gasped. "Don't stop!"

He took Gaara's cock into his mouth again. As he sucked, one hand moved lower. He cupped those full, tight balls and massaged them lightly with his thumb. Sometimes when he jerked off he did this to himself, and it always felt good, but it took too much concentration to really keep it up once he started getting close to orgasm. Having someone else do it for him, he'd always thought, would be nice. So he did it for Gaara now, rubbing his balls in slow, gentle circles as he slid his lips up and down the length of his dick. He squeezed, very gently...

And Gaara came with a sharp cry. Thick, salty fluid spurted into Shikamaru's mouth and down his throat. He wasn't prepared; he pulled back, coughing, and pounded his chest with one fist.

Gaara lay on his back, his eyes wide and unfocused, his hair mussed, his face flushed and sweat-damp. Then he blinked, his eyes focusing slowly. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." Shikamaru smiled, his eyes watering. "A little just went down the wrong pipe, that's all." Once he'd cleared his throat, he stretched out next to Gaara, leaned down to kiss his mouth, then—remembering where his own mouth had just been—kissed his forehead instead. "You okay?"

"Better than okay. That was…I've never felt anything like it." He paused. "Thank you."

Shikamaru wrapped his arms around Gaara and hugged him tight, looking into his eyes. It was so easy to get lost in those eyes. He'd heard that cliché many times—getting lost in someone's eyes—but he'd never really understood it until he met Gaara. He felt like he could spend hours just staring into them…and as he did, the boundaries of his ego seemed to soften and dissolve, letting his mind flow into Gaara's, and Gaara's into his. "I love you," he said.

Gaara froze. His face went blank. "You do?"

"Yeah." Shikamaru stared into his eyes. He stroked one smooth, soft cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I do."

Gaara lay motionless for a moment. His breathing quickened. Shikamaru saw the pulse fluttering in his throat like a trapped bird.

"Gaara? Are you okay?"

"I…" His voice broke. He pulled his boxers back up, then sat up and turned away, shaking.

Shikamaru watched, nervous. Had he jumped the gun? Maybe he should have waited longer…but he _did _love Gaara. He was sure of that now. He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he'd expected, but this wasn't it. "I'm not trying to make you feel rushed or pressured or anything, you know? I just wanted to tell you how I felt. I mean…this doesn't have to change anything if you don't want it to. I just…I've never felt this way about anyone, and I thought..." He hesitated. "Gaara?"

For a long moment, Gaara didn't move or speak, just stared at the floor. "No one has ever said those words to me before," he whispered. "Not even him."

Shikamaru touched his shoulder lightly, cautiously. "I didn't think it'd upset you like this."

"I'm not…upset. I…" His fingers clenched on the bed-sheets. His shoulders trembled. "I'm sorry."

"What's wrong?"

He rubbed his forehead. "When I was a child, Yashamaru once told me that only one thing can cure a wound of the heart, and that's love. I got the idea that love was like this magical medicine that would make all my pain and fear go away. I know now that probably isn't true, but…for awhile that hope, that fantasy, was all I had. But then he died and…I just…shut all my feelings away. Hope was too painful. Feeling anything was too painful. I was sure that no one would ever love me, so I decided to stop thinking about it, to just love myself, only myself, and never let anyone get close to me. I killed my heart. But now…everything I thought I'd lost is coming back. It's like my soul's been sleeping all this time, ever since his death, and now you've woken it up. I'm not explaining it well. I'm sorry. But this—all of this is really confusing and overwhelming to me." After another long moment of silence, he said—so quietly that Shikamaru had to strain to hear him—"I love you too. I love you so much. And I'm so very, very scared."

"Why?"

"Because you could destroy me if you wanted."

"But if I feel the same about you, doesn't that give you equal power? I mean…if I lost you now, it would be like having a piece of me ripped out."

Gaara met his gaze. "But you have other people who care about you. You don't need me."

"Yes I do. Besides, you have other people who care about you too." Shikamaru lay his hand over Gaara's. "You're a really nice guy, you know. People see that about you once they get used to you. I mean, look how quickly Chouji and Ino warmed up to you."

"They tolerate me because I'm your friend. But they wish I wasn't here."

"That's not true." Shikamaru rubbed the back of Gaara's neck with his fingertips. The skin was warm and soft, like living velvet. "You have to give people a chance. Let them in."

"I'm not even sure I know how."

"Just share more of what's going on in your head, what you're feeling."

"I'll try," he whispered. "But…it isn't easy for me. It seems like every time I start to trust someone, something bad happens. Like I'm being punished. Like I wasn't meant to have love, and when I try, fate rips it away."

"It isn't like that. You've had some bad luck with people, that's all. But it doesn't always have to be like that."

"I hope you're right." For a moment, neither one of them spoke. Then Gaara said, "Is there anything you want?" His hand drifted to Shikamaru's thigh. "You still haven't let me do anything for you."

Shikamaru hesitated. "There _is _something I want to do right now."

"What's that?"

"It'll sound weird. But I want to give you a bath."

Gaara blinked. A tiny furrow appeared between his brows. "A bath?"

"Yes. I want to draw a warm bath for you. Then I want to undress you and wash you. Can I do that?"

"I…yes. If you wish."

Shikamaru took his hand and led him into the bathroom. He turned on the water. As the tub filled, he turned to Gaara and said quietly, "Lift up your arms."

Gaara hesitated, then obeyed, and Shikamaru slid his shirt off, exposing his smooth, pale upper body. But not entirely smooth, he saw. Scars—evidence of past abuse—marred his chest, back and stomach. In the dim light of the bedroom, they hadn't been as noticeable. In the harsh glare of the bathroom fluorescents, they stood out like raw pink birthmarks against the almond-cream smoothness of his skin. Shikamaru touched one, very gently, and murmured, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That you were hurt like this."

"It isn't your fault."

"I know. I'm just sorry it happened." He kissed a small, puckered scar on Gaara's chest. Then he pulled down Gaara's boxers and let them slide to the floor.

The tub had just finished filling. Shikamaru shut off the water. "Let me know if it's too hot or too cold."

Gaara sank into the tub. Shikamaru wet a sponge, then squeezed some liquid body-soap onto it. "Here, sit up." Gaara did, and Shikamaru gently, carefully began to wash that pale, smooth skin. He imagined that he was washing away all the terrible things that had happened to Gaara, all the hurt and shame.

Gaara watched him, a tiny furrow in his brow. "Is this what turns you on?"

"This is what I want right now."

"Should I…should I do anything?"

"Just relax."

Gaara leaned forward a little, his eyes half-closed as Shikamaru washed his back. "This feels nice," he murmured.

Shikamaru gazed down at his back, the scars on his fair skin, the small bumps of his spine. He squeezed the sponge and let the warm suds run over Gaara's shoulders and back.

After Gaara had been washed and rinsed clean, Shikamaru drained the tub, wrapped a thick, soft towel around Gaara and lifted him out. He carried him into the bedroom, cocooned in the towel, and lay him gently on the bed.

"Shikamaru," Gaara whispered, "why are you doing this?"

"I just want to. That's all." He pulled the blankets up over Gaara and tucked them around his body. He ran his fingers through that soft, damp red hair. "I want to see you feeling safe and relaxed. That makes me happy."

"Really?"

"Yes. So if you want to repay me, just let me take care of you."

"You confuse me so much."

"Ditto." Shikamaru gave him a tiny smile. "I've been trying to get inside your head and figure out what makes you tick. I still don't have the first clue." He touched that smooth, soft cheek, caressed it with the very tips of his fingers.

He found himself thinking about those scars again. So many, like a road map of suffering carved into Gaara's skin. And he knew that he could never wash them away, as much as he might like to. "Gaara…" Shikamaru hesitated. "Don't take this the wrong way, but have you ever thought about getting help? Like therapy, I mean?"

Gaara tensed. "You think I'm crazy?"

"No, that's not it at all. I just…you've been through so much. After what your father and uncle did, and all you went through at school, all the teasing and bullying…I know you're hurting inside, and I want you to get some relief. That's all. I want to help you, but I don't know how much I can do on my own. I'm not going to push you into anything you aren't comfortable with, but I just wondered if...well, if you think that's something that might help."

Gaara was silent a long moment, his gaze downcast. "I've been on and off different psych-meds for most of my life. Some of them dulled the pain for awhile, but none of them really made me better. I've never been to a therapist. My father didn't want me to go to one. He wasn't a believer in psychotherapy."

"Do _you _want to?"

"I don't know. I'd be afraid to, I think. I'm not used to opening up, and with a stranger it would be that much harder."

"It's up to you. It's just something to think about."

"Even if I wanted to, I don't know how I'd pay for it."

"I could pay for it."

"You have that sort of money?"

"Not right now. But I could find some way to make the extra money if I needed to. Just let me know, okay? Anything you need, anything you want, if it's within my power to give, I'll give it to you."

They lay in silence for a few minutes. Then Gaara said, "There _is_ something I've been meaning to ask. A favor."

"What is it?"

"There are some things at my old house that I want to get. I don't like the idea of going back there, but hopefully it won't take long. I wondered if you could drive me."

"Sure. What kind of things do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, the only picture I have of my mother is there. Even if I never knew her, I still like having it. And my journal. It's not that I really want it back all that much, I just don't want my father to find it and read it. And…" A flush rose into his cheeks. "My teddy bear. I do sort of want that back."

Shikamaru raised his eyebrows. "Your teddy bear?"

"I've had him since I was three. If I leave him there my father will just throw him away. If he hasn't already." He looked up and met Shikamaru's gaze, his jaw clenched, as if daring him to laugh. "I know it's stupid, but I have a certain attachment to it."

Shikamaru felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You're laughing at me." Gaara's lower lip pushed forward slightly. Someone who wasn't used to reading his subtle facial expressions might not have noticed it, but he was pouting.

"No, I'm not, honest."

Gaara sat up and crossed his arms over his chest, his cheeks still slightly pink. "It helps me fall asleep. That's all. When you've dealt with insomnia as long as I have, you use whatever methods are effective."

Shikamaru lay a hand on his shoulder. "We'll get it back, then. I promise."

"Thank you." Gaara hesitated. "I'm not looking forward to seeing my father again. And I don't think he wants to see me either. But maybe if I promise him never to come back after this…"

"I'd go there and get those things for you if I could, but I doubt your dad would let a perfect stranger come in and rummage through your stuff. But I can go with you if you like."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all. We can go there right now."

"Hold me for just a few more minutes?"

Gaara lay down, and Shikamaru wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. Gaara rested his head on Shikamaru's chest. "You know," he said quietly, "I've only lived here with you for a month or so, but already, this place feels more like home than my old house ever did."

Shikamaru didn't say anything, just held him a little closer.

"Shikamaru…" Gaara hesitated. "Are we friends or lovers now?"

"The two aren't mutually exclusive, you know. No matter what happens, you'll still be my friend. Love is something that grows out of friendship. Sex is just a physical need." He stroked Gaara's hair. "Our culture makes too big a deal out of sex. Everyone is obsessed with it and people are made to feel shitty about themselves when they aren't getting it, like there's got to be something wrong with you if you're not having all your orgasms inside someone else's body."

"But don't you _want_ to have sex with me?"

"Well…yeah." Shikamaru swallowed, suddenly very aware that Gaara's slim body was pressed up against his. His mouth went dry, and his cock started to harden again. "But we just did, didn't we?"

"I mean, don't you want to fuck me?"

Well, that was blunt. "Um...kind of. Well, yes. I do."

"I'm here," said Gaara, his expression unreadable.

Why not? he thought. Gaara was willing, he wanted it, and a part of him—a part that was currently straining against the confines of his boxers—thought that should be enough. Still, something held him back. Maybe it was the memory of those scars. Maybe it was the knowledge that even though Gaara might seem willing, even eager, he was still very damaged, very fragile. A child who was terrified of being abandoned. A child who'd essentially been trained as a sex slave, then betrayed by the one person he'd cared about.

"I don't want to rush," said Shikamaru. "When we do that, I want...hell, it sounds so girly, but I want it to be special."

"Special?"

"Yeah. You know, something we'll both remember for a long time." After another minute, he stood, grabbed a shirt and tossed it to Gaara. "We can talk about it more when we get back. Let's go get your stuff."

Gaara hesitated…then nodded. "Okay."

-To be continued


	12. Chapter 12

A half-hour later, Shikamaru pulled up in front of a looming, palatial house with a manicured lawn. Marble lions stood to either side of the driveway, their faces frozen in stone snarls.

Shikamaru looked at Gaara. He sat shotgun, arms folded across his chest, wearing one of the outfits he'd bought from the mall last month—a long-sleeved black shirt and matching pants. To anyone else his face probably would have looked blank, but Shikamaru noticed the faint lines of tension around his eyes and mouth, the way his slim fingers pressed into his upper arms.

"Ready?" said Shikamaru.

Gaara nodded. They got out of the car and walked up the driveway to the front door. Shikamaru rung the doorbell, while Gaara hung back a little, arms still folded across his chest, shoulders rigid with tension.

A moment later, the door opened. A tall, lean man stared down at them with eyes as sharp and expressionless as a hawk's. "What do you want?" he asked. Then his gaze fell on Gaara, and his jaw muscles tightened.

Gaara returned his cold stare. "I'm here to pick up some of my things. After this, I'll be out of your hair for good, just like you always wanted."

He looked at Shikamaru. "Who are you?"

"I'm his friend," said Shikamaru.

The man narrowed his eyes.

"May we come in?" asked Gaara, all neutral politeness.

"Fine." He opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Get your things and then get out."

Shikamaru's fists clenched in his pockets. _What kind of father are you? _he wanted to ask. But pissing him off would just make this more difficult. They only needed to be here a few minutes, and then Gaara would never have to deal with this creep again. The sooner they could get in and out, the better...so he held his tongue and followed Gaara into the house, through a spacious foyer, down a hall and into a living room decorated in cool, neutral grays and whites.

The elegant rooms looked like magazine photos, glossy and pristine. There were no personal touches, no pictures on the walls, as if the whole thing had been designed to be walked through and admired, but not lived in.

Gaara's father walked with them to the foot of the stairs and stood waiting at the bottom, arms crossed over his chest.

Gaara didn't look at him. With Shikamaru following close behind, he walked up the stairs and down a hall, to a door, and opened it. "It's all still here," Gaara said. "I thought he might have thrown everything out by now." He entered the room.

Shikamaru stepped in and looked around. The room was mostly bare. There was a bed, a desk with a computer, and not much else. Gaara opened a desk drawer, rummaged through and fished out a tattered black notebook, which he tucked under one arm. After another few seconds of rummaging, he pulled out a framed photo. For a moment he just held it in both hands, staring at it. Shikamaru stepped closer and peered over Gaara's shoulder.

It was a woman with shoulder-length, honey colored hair, wearing a blue sweater and a gentle smile. Shikamaru could see the echo of Gaara's features in hers; the small nose, the shape of the eyes. Gaara ran his fingertips over the glass, then tucked the photo under his arm alongside the notebook. He walked over to his bed, lifted the pillow and pulled a teddy bear out from underneath. It was missing one of its eyes and looked positively ancient, its fur faded to a dull brownish gray. Stuffing poked out of a hole in its belly. Gaara cuddled it to his chest and rubbed his cheek against the top of its head…then, as if remembering Shikamaru's presence, he looked up and set the teddy bear on the bed, his cheeks flushed a faint pink.

"Is there anything else you wanted to grab while we're here?"

"No, not really. I mean, I guess I could take some of my old clothes…" Gaara froze, staring at something on the other side of the room.

"Gaara?"

No response. Gaara continued to stare as if hypnotized. "There's something in there," he murmured. "I shouldn't leave it here, but..."

He was looking into the open closet, Shikamaru realized. Except for the clothes on the hangers, the closet was pretty much bare. Then Shikamaru looked down and saw a cardboard box on the floor. He moved closer. Sitting at the bottom of the box was an unlabeled black videocassette tape. "This?" Shikamaru bent and picked up the tape. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Gaara muttered and grabbed it from him. He stared at it for a long moment, fingers clenched on it so tight that his knuckles whitened.

"Gaara…" Shikamaru touched his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Gaara took a deep breath. "Fine." He turned…and froze.

Shikamaru turned, too, and saw Gaara's father standing in the doorway to the bedroom. "Are you done yet?" he asked.

"Yes," said Gaara. His face remained blank, but Shikamaru could see the turbulent emotions swirling through the depths of those dark-ringed eyes.

"Good. Now get out, faggot. And don't come back."

Shikamaru clenched his fists and glared at that stony face. He'd made up his mind not to say anything, but he couldn't hold back anymore. "What the fuck is wrong with you? This is your son you're talking to. Don't you have a shred of human decency?"

His eyes narrowed. "You've got no room to criticize. His 'friend,' are you? What a joke."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You're fucking him. Aren't you?"

"That isn't…"

"Don't bother denying it. You're using him. Because he's broken inside, and that's what your kind likes, isn't it? You sniff out that weakness, and it draws you like blood draws a shark. You're just like _him_. Just like her worthless brother. But once you get tired of your latest fucktoy, you'll throw him out on the street."

Gaara didn't reply. He just stared at the floor, his shoulders rigid, his face a shade whiter than usual.

"Enjoy this depraved life you've chosen," said his father. "God knows I did everything in my power to make you normal, but sometimes just cutting the rotten bits off the apple doesn't do the trick, does it? Sometimes it's rotten to the core."

Shikamaru's breathing quickened, and the blood pounded in his veins. It took all his willpower not to lunge across the room and slam his fist into the bastard's jaw. "You're the one who's depraved. You sick monster. You put him through hell. You nearly destroyed him. And why? Because he didn't fit your idea of what's 'normal?' You don't know anything about him. Or us." He put an arm around Gaara's shoulders and drew him close to his side.

Gaara blinked and looked at him in surprise.

"I love Gaara," Shikamaru said quietly. "He's a wonderful person, and if you're too blind to see that, that's your own fucking fault. And unlike you, I would never hurt him or abandon him." He looked into Gaara's wide eyes. "That's a promise." On impulse, he cupped Gaara's smooth cheek and softly kissed his lips.

Gaara's father glared at them. The corner of his eye twitched, and his upper lip peeled back from clenched teeth. "Get out," he hissed.

They gathered up Gaara's things. Then Shikamaru took his hand, and they walked down the steps and out the front door. They got into the car. Shikamaru gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white as he pulled out of the driveway. After a moment, he looked over at Gaara. "You okay?"

"Yes." Gaara stared down at the teddy bear in his lap. "He was really angry when you kissed me. For a moment I was afraid he would attack you."

"Maybe I was hoping he would. Maybe I wanted an excuse to punch him. The things he said about you were horrible."

"I don't want you to get hurt because of me. He doesn't matter now, anyway. He's in my past." He hugged his bear a little tighter. "It was those words that did it, you know."

"What?"

"You told him that you loved me. He hated that. I could tell. Even if he'd walked in and found me sucking you off on the bed, I don't think that would have enraged him nearly as much. He hates the way I am, and he doesn't want to believe that anyone could really love me."

"Well, he's wrong. He's wrong about everything. You're not depraved or sick. He is. And I really, truly love you."

After a moment, Gaara leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Shikamaru's cheek. "Thank you," he whispered.

* * *

When they arrived back at the apartment, Chouji and Ino were sitting on the couch side by side, Chouji munching a bag of potato chips, Ino chewing a plain celery stick. Chouji grinned. "I'm glad you're back. You want to watch the Star Wars Holiday Special now?"

"Sure, but…" He glanced at Ino.

Her shoulders tensed. "What?"

Shikamaru hesitated. This was something he'd wanted to share with Chouji—their special inside joke. He knew it was petty and selfish, but he didn't feel ready to include Ino in their inner circle. He still didn't quite trust her. "I didn't think you were into stuff like this."

"What, you think because I'm a girl and a cheerleader I don't like anything that has to do with Star Wars?"

"Well…I just sorta thought...I don't know. Nothing."

She sighed. "Fine. I get it. I don't want to spoil your boys' night." She grabbed her black, pink-sequined purse off the coffee table and stood. "I'll call you later, Chouji."

"Ino, wait." He caught her by the hand as she turned away. "It's not like that. We _do _want you here." He glared at Shikamaru, who tensed. It was the first time, in his memory, that he'd received anything resembling a glare from Chouji. "Don't we?"

"Sure," Shikamaru said. His face suddenly felt hot.

Ino hesitated, looking from Shikamaru to Chouji. There was a tense wariness in her expression, something he'd never seen there, yet strangely familiar. Fear of rejection? In Ino, one of the most popular girls in school? "Look, it's fine," she said with a small shrug. "You don't have to include me out of pity. I have some homework I need to do anyway…"

"You should stay," said Gaara.

They all looked at him. When Gaara was around people other than Shikamaru, he spoke so rarely that when he did, it was always a little startling. He stood, both arms folded across his teddy bear, clutching it to his chest.

Ino's gaze focused on the teddy bear. She stood and approached. Gaara tensed, but stood his ground as she reached out with one slim, manicured finger and stroked the hole in the bear's stomach. "Do you want me to fix this for you?" she asked.

Gaara blinked. "You could do that?"

"Sure. Hang on, I've actually got a needle and thread in my purse." She unzipped her purse and rummaged through it, pushing aside lipstick tubes and compacts and other things Shikamaru didn't even recognize. "Here it is." She pulled out a spool of thread and a needle. She wet the end of the thread with her tongue, slipped it through the needle's eye and knotted it. "May I?"

Gaara nodded and handed her the teddy bear. With quick, deft movements, she stitched up the hole, then bit the thread, tied it off and handed the bear back to Gaara. "There you go." She smiled.

Gaara ran a fingertip over the small, neat line of stitches. "Thank you," he murmured.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Shikamaru said, "Have you guys eaten yet? I could order a pizza."

"Pizza sounds great," said Chouji. "I'm starved. Ino?"

"I ate already. But thank you, anyway." She smiled, relaxing, and sat down on the couch.

Shikamaru picked up his cell phone. "Gaara, what do you like on yours?"

"Mushrooms."

"Pepperoni for me," said Chouji.

Shikamaru dialed and ordered a large pizza, half pepperoni and half mushrooms. He got out a bottle of Mountain Dew and four glasses, then settled onto the couch. "Ready?"

"Yup," said Chouji, grinning. "The tape is already in there."

"Great." Shikamaru picked up the remote, turned on the VCR and hit play.

They sat, huddled together on the faded couch—the pretty, popular cheerleader, the two stoner slackers and the loner goth—sipping Mountain Dew as they watched the wookie family on the screen making preparations for Life Day. The wookies grunted and barked at each other in their own language; it was anyone's guess what they were saying.

Ino giggled. "I never even knew this thing existed! And I loved Star Wars so much when I was a kid. I still love it."

"Me too," said Chouji. "I've been trying to get my hands on a copy of this for so long."

"Is it as bad as you hoped?" Shikamaru asked.

"Even worse," said Chouji, grinning.

"Are you kidding? This is great," said Ino. "I love wookies. I wanted to be Chewbaca for Halloween in second grade, but my mom wouldn't let me."

"Why not?" asked Chouji.

"She said that was a costume for boys and I was a girl, so I had to wear a girl costume. So I was a fairy princess instead."

"That's fucked up," said Shikamaru. "She should have let you be Chewbaca if that's what you wanted."

"I know, right? Kids these days dress up as pimps and serial killers for Halloween and their parents let them do it, but God forbid a girl wear a _boy _costume." She looked over at Gaara. "What did you like to dress up as for Halloween when you were a kid?"

"My dad never let me go trick-or-treating," he said.

"Really? Never?"

"Hey, Halloween's coming up in just a few days," said Chouji. "We should all go trick-or-treating."

"That actually sounds like fun, but...aren't we too old?" said Ino. "I mean, what would people think?"

"Who cares? I mean, worst case scenario, no one gives us candy. It'd still be awesome."

The door buzzed.

"Oh, hang on. That must be the pizza." Shikamaru got up. A moment later, he returned with a large cardboard box and set it on the table. "Dig in."

Chouji, Shikamaru and Gaara all began eating. Chouji offered a piece to Ino. "No thanks," she said. "I'm still full from lunch."

"Really? I haven't seen you eat anything today except that celery."

"I had half a sandwich earlier. I'm not…" She paused, staring at the pizza. After another moment, she gave in and took a bite. Then another.

"I'm going to grab some more Mountain Dew," said Shikamaru. "Can you pause it?"

"Sure."

He fetched the bottle from the kitchen and refilled all their glasses. "So, Ino, I've been wondering," said Shikamaru, "where do you weigh in on the oldest philosophical question of all time?"

"What's that?"

"Which is cooler? Pirates or ninjas?"

"Ninjas, of course," she said.

"Yeah, no contest," said Chouji. "No one ever says pirates."

"Sakura says pirates," said Shikamaru. "It's a long-standing disagreement between us."

"She only says that because of Johnny Depp," said Ino. "He's in that pirate movie. You know. Captain Jack, um..."

"Sparrow," said Gaara. "Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Right. So which do you like better, Gaara?"

"I don't really understand why it's important." He hesitated. "But I guess ninjas are a little bit cooler."

Shikamaru chuckled, sat down and hit play. Chouji munched on pizza, and Ino, to Shikamaru's surprise, was starting her second piece. She normally never touched anything that wasn't low-carb.

Before long, she'd finished off four pieces.

"God, this is so good…" She ate a fifth piece, then a sixth, and started on a seventh. "Umm. I haven't had pizza in so long." Then she blinked, as if emerging from a trance, and stared at the half-eaten piece of pizza in her hand. A drop of orange grease fell from the cheese to the cardboard box below. She set the piece down. "I…I'll be back in a minute." She stood and walked into the bathroom. The door shut.

"Shit," whispered Chouji.

Shikamaru stopped the tape. "What's wrong?"

Chouji didn't seem to hear him. He walked over to the bathroom and knocked on the door. "Ino…please don't…"

Faintly, Shikamaru heard the sound of retching from within.

-To be continued


	13. Chapter 13

Later, Shikamaru and Gaara sat side by side on the edge of the bed. Shikamaru stared into space, his insides tight and clenched. The bedroom door was closed, but he could still hear Ino and Chouji's voices in the next room. Their footsteps echoed through the apartment as they paced.

"It's really not as big a deal as you're making it out to be," Ino was saying. "I'm fine, honest. I mean, it's not like I throw up every _day_."

"How often, then?" Chouji asked.

"Once in awhile."

"How often is once in awhile?"

"I don't know. I…I don't want to talk about it right now. Let's just forget about it, okay? I don't want this to ruin tonight."

"Ino…you know I can't ignore this."

"Why not?"

"I'm worried about you. That's all. I just don't understand. Why do you put yourself through this?"

A long pause. Then she said something, too quietly for Shikamaru to make out the words.

"That isn't true!" said Chouji. "I'll love you no matter what! Weight doesn't matter as much as you think. I mean, look at me. I probably could stand to lose a few pounds myself, but you still like me, right?"

"Yeah, but…it's different for guys. You don't know what it's like." Her voice shook. "There's so much pressure at school, at home, just everywhere. I can't afford to slip up. There are too many people watching me. And this is the only way I can stay thin. I don't have the willpower to control my eating all the time. I always break down and start stuffing my face."

"If you didn't diet all the time, you wouldn't feel so deprived and you wouldn't feel the need to stuff yourself when you finally let yourself eat."

"If I _don't _diet all the time, I start gaining weight."

"So what? Even if you gain fifty pounds you'll still be beautiful. Or a hundred pounds."

"You say that now, but girls who gain weight _always _get dumped. I've seen it happen to so many people. I—" Her voice quivered and broke. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here tonight. I ruined this. I have to go."

"Wait, Ino…"

Their voices receded as Chouji followed her into the hall, still calling her name.

Gaara and Shikamaru sat side by side, silent.

"Jesus," muttered Shikamaru. He palmed his face.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I just never thought…" He trailed off. Now that he looked back, it seemed kind of obvious. For as long as he'd known her, Ino had been terrified of gaining weight. But he'd never suspected the problem went that deep. "I don't understand how she can do that to herself. Is being able to fit into size negative-thirteen hot pants really worth it?"

"She's afraid of being abandoned. Of being left alone. I can see that much."

"But it makes no sense. Ino has everything. She's gorgeous. She's popular. She gets straight A's. She's practically the queen of Konoha High. Every other girl there wants to be her. And Chouji has been madly in love with her for years. He was willing to be 'just friends' and let her cry on his shoulders while she dated all those popular douchebags who treated her like crap. After Chouji waited so long and so patiently for her, how can she think he's going to dump her if she gains a little weight?"

"I don't know her very well, so I can't say. But I know how strong the fear of abandonment can be. If I was about to lose you and I somehow knew that the only way to keep you with me was to cut off my own hand or gouge out my own eye, I would do it."

"Gaara…don't say that."

"I know it's pathetic and it probably horrifies you. But it's the truth. You're worth more to me than an eye or a hand. And I can't face the idea of being alone in the world again."

"I'm not horrified. I just…I don't want to think about you hurting yourself. I'd have to be some kind of crazy sadist to let you do that for my sake. And you're not going to lose me, so don't be afraid of that." He cupped Gaara's chin with one palm and lifted his face. "Okay?"

"Okay," Gaara whispered. He closed his eyes, as if savoring the touch. Then he leaned against Shikamaru's shoulder.

Shikamaru combed his fingers through that soft, red hair. "Gaara?"

Sea-green eyes opened. "Yes?"

"I wanted to ask. What's that tape you brought back from your house? When you saw it, you seemed kind of…I don't know. Disturbed."

Gaara averted his gaze.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Just thought I'd ask."

"It's just an old home video." He glanced at the door. "Do you think Chouji and Ino will come back soon?"

"I don't know. We'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

They took turns playing Tetris to kill the time. After awhile, Shikamaru looked at the clock and saw that almost two hours had passed since Chouji left. Shortly after, he received a brief message on his cell phone.

"Hey, Shika." Chouji's voice sounded tired, hoarse. "I'm gonna stay here tonight. Don't watch the rest of the Star Wars Holiday Special without me, okay? I'll see you tomorrow. Peace."

Shikamaru turned off the phone and sighed.

"He's not coming back?" Gaara sat on the couch next to him, hands resting on his knees.

"No. Not tonight. I hope everything's okay with them." He paused. "Do you want to watch a movie or anything?" He wasn't sure he'd be able to focus—there was a sour, unpleasant feeling in his stomach, a dull ache in his chest—but it was better than just sitting around thinking about what he'd seen. Or heard, rather.

Gaara stared into space for a moment. Then he went into the bedroom and came back with the unlabeled black cassette tape in one hand. He held it out.

Shikamaru stared. "That? Are you sure?"

"You wanted to see it, didn't you?"

"Well, I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious." Shikamaru stared at the tape. If it was something _really _bad, he supposed, Gaara wouldn't be offering to show it to him like this. But still… "I get the feeling you don't have pleasant memories associated with this."

Gaara shrugged. "None of my childhood memories are very pleasant. Do you still want to see it?"

He hesitated. "Okay." He dried his sweat-damp palms on his jeans, ejected the Star Wars Holiday special from the VCR and slid the other tape inside. Then he sat on the couch and glanced at Gaara, who sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, his face carefully emptied of expression. Shikamaru took a deep breath, aimed the remote, and hit play.

A buzz of static filled the screen. Then it slowly cleared, and a grainy image appeared: a bedroom. A small, skinny red-haired boy, no older than eight or nine, sat on the edge of the bed, wearing only a pair of blue boxer shorts. He looked up at the camera, his green eyes wide and uncertain. "You want me to take these off too?" His voice trembled a little.

"Yes," said a man's voice. He was breathing heavily. "Go ahead."

"Okay." The boy hesitated. Then, slowly, he slid off his boxers.

"Good boy. Now turn around. Let me see all of you. That's it…"

Shikamaru grabbed the remote and shut off the TV. Even if he'd only seen a few seconds, he felt sick to his stomach, dirtied. He swallowed, his throat tight. "Jesus," he muttered. He looked at Gaara. "Did you really think I'd want to see…something like this?"

Gaara looked back at him, his eyes shielded. "I don't know. You asked about what was on it. Showing you seemed easier than trying to explain it."

Shikamaru looked down at his own hands. They were shaking. "Why did you keep this?"

"It's all I have left of him. I can't bring myself to throw it away."

"But _why_? After what that bastard did to you…"

"I don't think it's something you could understand." Gaara stared into space. "He was a very sick person. And what he did left scars on me that will never fully heal. But for a long time, he was the only one who ever gave me a kind word, the only one who made me feel like I mattered—like I was wanted, needed. Even back then, I knew he was using me, and sometimes the monster in me wanted to kill him. But in spite of that, I loved him. I still love him."

Shikamaru pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're right, I don't understand. I mean…he raped you. Not just once, but over and over. How can you not hate him?"

Gaara shrugged. "He never really forced me to do anything. He asked for things, and I gave him what he wanted because I wanted to please him. I wanted him to keep loving me. What he did was wrong, but it wasn't rape."

"You were eight years old. You didn't even understand what you were agreeing to."

"I understood. Better than you might imagine." Gaara paused. "I'm not defending him. I know he was a bad person. I just want you to understand how it was. I wasn't entirely a victim. I allowed it to happen. I even encouraged it."

"No." Shikamaru shook his head, his hands clenched tight, nails biting into his palms. "That isn't how it was. Even if he didn't physically force you, he pressured you into it, made you feel like he wouldn't love you anymore if you didn't do those things…and you were just a _kid_, for God's sake. That's rape."

Gaara's face remained blank. "What if I told you I enjoyed some of it?"

Shikamaru gulped, his mouth dry. "Did you?"

"At first I didn't. At first I hated it. But as time went on, I got used to it. Sometimes he could make my body respond. And after awhile, I found myself craving it…the closeness, the sense of being needed. I'd offer my body to him, even without him asking." He paused. "Does that repulse you?"

"What repulses me is how he used you. He conditioned you to respond to him. He used your loneliness to get what he wanted."

"Maybe. But still, I didn't have to let it go on as long as I did. I could have told my father a lot sooner…or I could have just said no. Instead, I became a participant. But then he started wanting to do things like tie me to the bed and use sex-toys, and I got scared. Instead of just refusing, I turned against him and ratted him out. I can see why he died hating me. I know it was still his fault, mostly…but it was a little bit my fault, too."

"No. No, it _wasn't _your fault, not in any way, not even a little. How can I make you understand that?"

Gaara lowered his gaze. "You don't know how ugly I am inside. How filthy."

"Look at me." Shikamaru gripped Gaara's chin between a thumb and forefinger, lifted his face and looked into his eyes. "You're not ugly. And you're not filthy. And you're not to blame for what happened."

Emotions moved through the depths of Gaara's eyes. "You aren't disgusted?" he whispered.

"Not with you. Never with you."

"If you watched the rest of that thing, you might be. I behaved like a little slut."

"Stop that. You weren't any such thing."

"That's what my father called me when he found out about it. 'You little slut, why did you let it go on for so long? Why didn't you tell me sooner?' He said that I must have enjoyed it…that I…" He looked away. His mouth trembled.

Shikamaru wrapped his arms around Gaara and hugged him tight. Tears stung his eyes. He kissed Gaara's forehead. "He was wrong. He had no right to say that to you." How could any father react so coldly, so cruelly to the news that his son had been sexually abused? He didn't understand it…but having met the man himself, he didn't doubt for a moment that Gaara was telling the truth. Gently, he stroked Gaara's hair.

"You're so much cleaner than I am," Gaara said quietly. "So much healthier. I don't understand how you can touch me, how you can _want _to. Yashamaru was just as dirty inside as I was...but you...I keep thinking that you're going to shrink away from me in revulsion when you realize just how mutilated and infected my soul is. Maybe some part of me still feels like it's inevitable. Maybe that's why I showed this thing to you. Maybe I felt like, if you were going to be disgusted at some point, I might as well get it over with. Even now, I wonder…if you saw it all…"

"I don't want to see any more. I don't want those images in my mind. It's bad enough knowing that it happened to you. Having to watch it would break my heart. I want to get rid of that tape. I want to take it out to the field and burn it. Can we do that?"

Gaara hesitated, then whispered, "Yes."

* * *

They brought the tape out to the field by the canal. Shikamaru found a bare patch of earth, dug out a shallow fire-pit with a stick and lined it with stones. Then he placed the tape in the center, doused it with gasoline from a small can, and handed a book of matches to Gaara.

Gaara hesitated. "You want me to do it?"

"I think you should."

Gaara bit his lower lip.

Shikamaru placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's up to you," he said. "I won't force you. But I think you'd feel better if it was gone." _And I know I will._

Gaara stared down at the tape a moment longer. Then he struck a match and tossed it into the pit.

They watched as the flames devoured the casing. The black plastic warped and melted, and the fire ate into the magnetic tape within. A gray pillar of smoke rose toward the sky. After a minute or two, Shikamaru sprayed the flames with a fire extinguisher, and they died at once. All that remained of the tape was a black lump, half-buried in a blanket of white foam.

They stood in silence for a minute or two, staring at the patch of blackened earth. Then Gaara said quietly, "Let's go back."

Shikamaru nodded. He took Gaara's hand, and they walked across the field together, toward home.

-To be continued


	14. Chapter 14

AN: This chapter contains drug use and sex.

* * *

Back at the apartment, Shikamaru asked Gaara, "Is there anything you want to watch tonight?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything. I just need to wash the memory of that video out of my head."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shown it to you. That was a mistake."

"Don't worry about it. It's gone now." He forced a smile. "So, any movies you've been wanting to see lately?"

"Actually…do you have _The Secret of NIMH?_"

Shikamaru's mouth opened in surprise. Gaara had never expressed much interest in movies or TV shows at all. The last thing he'd expected him to request was a kids' movie. "You want to see that?"

"I'd like to. It was one of my favorites when I was little, but it's been almost ten years since I've seen it."

"Well, I don't have it here, but I can rent it for you if you like."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure. There's a video rental place next to the convenience store just a few blocks from the apartment. I'll go get it for you. It'll only take me fifteen minutes or so. Wait here."

"Okay."

Shikamaru left the apartment and returned shortly after with the DVD in hand. When he opened the door, Gaara was sitting on the couch, hunched over the coffee table, filling the bowl of a glass pipe with weed from a baggie.

Shikamaru shut the door quickly. "Where'd you get that?"

"From the plastic Hello Kitty bank in your closet," Gaara said without looking up.

"How'd you know…"

"I saw you do this once while you thought I was asleep. Sorry. I should have asked first, but I feel like I need a little something to relax me. Seeing that thing again…it stirred up all kinds of bad memories."

Shikamaru sat next to him. "I thought you didn't smoke pot."

"I haven't for awhile. Yashamaru used to get me stoned sometimes. Mostly to relax me before he…you know." Gaara struck a match and lit the pipe. "At the time I didn't really know what it was. Figured it out later on."

Shikamaru watched him. He himself had been using weed for the past three years or so. Hell, most of his friends did it, and it had never struck him as a big deal. But still, a part of him was uncomfortable with seeing Gaara do this, and he couldn't have said why. "Be careful, okay? If you're depressed, too much of that stuff can make it worse."

"I'm not depressed, really. I just need to settle my mind down." He sucked smoke from the end of the pipe and broke into a fit of coughing. His eyes watered.

"Easy." Shikamaru rubbed his shoulder. "Maybe you should just have a little. If it's been years since you've done this, your body's probably not used to it."

"I won't make a habit of this, I promise. I know this stuff costs money."

"It's not that. I just…I don't know, really. Just be careful."

"Okay." Gaara glanced down. "You got the DVD?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. You still want to watch?"

"Sure."

Shikamaru slid the DVD into the player and sat next to Gaara on the couch.

A few minutes in, Gaara asked, "Do you think it's strange that I want to see something like this?"

"Nah. I'm kind of a kid at heart myself, in case you haven't noticed. I mean, I spend all my days just goofing off, playing video games and drinking soda. I'm not one to throw stones about liking cartoons." Shikamaru curled an arm around Gaara, pulled him closer and dropped a soft kiss on his forehead.

Gaara rested his head on Shikamaru's shoulder, his dark-ringed eyes heavy-lidded. "I remember seeing this for the first time when I was six years old. I remember loving it. Now…I can't see movies the same way I used to when I was that age."

"How do you mean?"

"It's like something broke in my mind, and now it's just images on a screen without any meaning. The fascination is gone." Gaara sucked in another mouthful of smoke, coughed and hiccupped. Gradually, his expression softened and the muscles in his face went slack.

Shikamaru's hand drifted to the back of Gaara's neck and massaged the velvet-soft skin there. "How do you feel?"

"I don't know if I feel anything yet." A pause. "Kind of relaxed, I guess. More than I was a minute ago. My head's a little fuzzy." His eyelids lowered as Shikamaru's fingertips rubbed in small circles on the back of his neck. "Mmm. Don't stop. That's nice." His eyes closed for a moment, then opened again. A little sigh escaped his parted lips. A moment later, he asked, "Do we have any chips?"

"Yeah, hang on." Shikamaru paused the movie, went into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of sour cream and cheddar chips.

Gaara ate a few, then took another drag of smoke. He studied the small, glass pipe in his hand, then looked at Shikamaru. "When was the first time you tried this stuff?"

"I dunno, I was probably fifteen. Kiba offered me some and I thought, why not? And I liked it, so I kept doing it. Not a lot. Just, you know, whenever I could get some without going to too much trouble for it."

"How does it make you feel? I mean, I know how it makes me feel, but maybe it's different for everyone."

Shikamaru paused. "I've never really tried to describe it to anyone. Let me think." He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. "It relaxes me, but there's more to it than that. It just…I don't know, it makes me fascinated with things. I remember one time I got high and spent about twenty minutes just staring at the back of a cereal box while my thoughts wandered in all these weird patterns, and I came to some sort of understanding about free will and how it related to quantum mechanics and the movement of subatomic particles in the brain. But I can't remember the specifics now. Maybe it was all bullshit anyway. Then another time I was in the field with Chouji and I watched this ladybug crawling along a blade of grass and thinking about how…just how perfect it was, this tiny creature, and how its nervous system was probably more complex than the most advanced computer on the planet, and if that's true of a _bug, _what about us? It's kind of crazy. I mean, humans spend most of their time thinking and worrying about all this shit that doesn't matter, obsessing over what other people think about us or whether we're 'good enough,' all that garbage. It makes us forget how incredible the world is, how weird and amazing and _beautiful _it is. So we take drugs just to experience that sense of wonder again, because that's the only way we know how."

"I don't know if it's the same for me. It just makes me feel safe, I guess. It quiets the voices in my head."

"You hear voices?"

"Not literally. There are just certain thoughts I can't stop thinking. But I feel okay right now." Gaara leaned his head against Shikamaru's shoulder; one sock-clad foot stroked his leg. "Do you want to keep watching?"

"Sure." Shikamaru picked up the remote and hit play.

They watched in silence for a few minutes longer. Shikamaru found himself rubbing Gaara's bare arm. On the screen, Jeremy, the clumsy crow, was getting tangled up in a piece of string. Gaara giggled softly—the tiniest, briefest sound, little more than a gust of air between his lips, but it was the first time Shikamaru had ever heard him laugh. It warmed him to his core.

He wrapped an arm around Gaara's shoulders. "You know, I saw this when I was a kid too. I'd pretty much forgotten about it until now. But it's a good movie."

"They don't make animation like this anymore, do they?"

"Yeah, these days it's all that CGI stuff. Somehow it's just not as magical." He nuzzled the top of Gaara's head. His hair smelled nice, like cinnamon gum mingled with something subtler and darker; a heavy, spicy-sweet smell, like dying roses.

"My favorite part is coming up. There's a song in this I like." Gaara stared at the TV, eyes half-lidded and dreamy. Then when the song started, he mouthed the words along with it.

_Dream by night, wish by day, love begins this way. Night's a friend with love to send each new day…_

Shikamaru was surprised to realize he knew it, and found himself murmuring the lyrics.

_Bless your heart, bless your soul, let your dreams come true. Future songs and flying dreams wait for you._

"_That's _where this is from," said Shikamaru. "My mom used to sing this to me sometimes when I was really little. I'd completely forgotten about it."

"I wish I'd had a chance to meet my mother. I hardly know anything about her. My dad didn't even keep any pictures or home videos of her around. I only have that one." He nursed the end of the pipe. "I always thought this woman had such a nice, gentle voice. The one who plays the mouse in this movie, I mean. Just listening to it is so soothing. I looked up her name once to find out who she was."

"Yeah? What's she doing now?"

"She's dead. She committed suicide just a few years after this movie was made."

"Jeez. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. It's not like I knew her. But I was sad anyway." He paused. "It's like she's gone but she's still around, in a way, because people still see her and hear her in her movies."

"There's some cultures that believe you're not really dead until the last person who remembers you is dead. If that's true, I guess that means people in movies will live forever. I mean…even if your body is gone, you're still alive in someone's heart. Your memory, I mean."

"Maybe that's why people want so badly to be loved. To have someone who'll remember them when they're gone. Otherwise you just…disappear." He looked down at his own hand, as if confirming it was still there. Then he said, in a tone of wonder, "Shikamaru, we're _alive. _I mean really _alive_."

"I know." He found himself looking at Gaara's ear and thinking it was the most perfectly formed ear he'd ever seen—small and shell-like and pale. He had a strong urge to nibble it.

He started to lean toward Gaara, but just then, Gaara spoke: "I remember this part too. They're going to see the Great Owl."

They watched as Mrs. Brisby, the mouse, entered the owl's lair—a shadowy place inside a hollow tree, filled with cobwebs and tiny bones. A huge spider emerged from the darkness, many-eyed and many-legged. Venom dripped from its mandibles as it crawled toward the unsuspecting mouse.

"This is kind of freaking me out," Gaara said. "I feel weird all of a sudden. I think I had a little bit too much."

Shikamaru turned off the TV, took the pipe from Gaara's hand and set it aside. "Everything's okay. You'll feel normal soon, just give it a few minutes." He pulled Gaara into his arms and rubbed his back. "I don't know if you should use that stuff anymore."

Gaara rested his head on Shikamaru's chest. "Until a minute ago it was fine, really. It reminds me of Valium, except this doesn't make me as drowsy."

"You've been on Valium?"

"I've been on everything. My dad kept me on sedatives whenever he could. Made me easier to handle, I guess. I remember one point when I was around thirteen years old, I was taking like six different pills a day. I didn't even know what most of them were. Officially it was to treat the depression and the psychotic outbursts, but I think my dad was secretly hoping there was a pill somewhere that would make me straight."

"That's fucked up. Liking guys isn't a mental illness."

"It wasn't just my sexuality that he hated." Gaara stared into space. "As a child I was always sensitive. I liked baby animals, I preferred reading and drawing to sports. I cried a lot. That sort of thing. And he hated it. It was against the rules for me to cry, and when I did he got angry. So I learned to do it alone, in my room, with my head under the pillow so he couldn't hear me. I learned to hide all my feelings, to push them deep beneath the surface. But even then he wasn't happy with me. He was always trying to find some way to rewire my personality, to change me into someone else, someone he approved of. At the institution…" Gaara's voice trembled. "Being in a place like that…it just makes you frightened down to the core of your being. You don't belong to yourself anymore. You don't have any control, you're just at everyone's mercy and you hope to God that they know what they're doing. And they're always watching you. Always."

"I'm sorry." Shikamaru hugged Gaara tighter. "You won't ever have to go back there. I promise."

Gaara trembled against him, breathing rapidly. "I need to cry," he whispered. "Can I cry?"

"Yes."

Gaara hid his face against Shikamaru's chest. His shoulders shook silently, and his chest hitched. But when he looked up, his eyes were dry. Despair lay in their depths like a shadow. "I don't even know how anymore. I'm so used to just pushing those feelings down. I can't cry or laugh. Something stops me."

"Let it out." Shikamaru cradled Gaara in his arms and rocked him like a child. "Just let it out. It's okay. You're allowed to feel. Just let those feelings move through you. Don't fight them."

Gaara gulped. His chest hitched again, and his face contorted, as if in pain. Then, all at once, the dam broke. Sobs poured out of him; raw, harsh, primal sounds, the sort a wounded animal might make. He lay in Shikamaru's arms, gasping for breath, almost choking. His whole body convulsed and vibrated with tremors. His eyes were tightly shut, but tears still seeped out, wetting his cheeks. Shikamaru held him, giving him something solid to cling to in the storm of his emotions.

After awhile, the sobs tapered off into hiccups, then silence. Gaara clung to him, his face pressed to Shikamaru's chest, his tears soaking his shirt. Shikamaru lifted him off the couch, carried him into the bedroom and lay him down. He turned on the lamp and studied Gaara's face. His reddened cheeks gleamed wet with tears. The whites of his eyes were pinkish, the dark flesh around them slightly puffy. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I look ridiculous, I know."

"You look fine." He grabbed a handful of tissues and gently cleaned Gaara's face.

"I love you," Gaara whispered.

"I love you too." Tears prickled in his own eyes. "I love you so much." He touched Gaara's smooth cheek.

Gaara closed his eyes.

"Gaara?" Shikamaru whispered. "What do you need?"

"Love me. Please...just love me..."

Shikamaru leaned down and softly kissed his lips, his cheeks, his eyelids, his throat. His hands slid beneath Gaara's shirt; his thumbs found the tiny, hard buds of his nipples and rubbed them. "You're beautiful," he murmured.

"You don't think I'm sick and dirty?"

"No."

"You don't think I'm broken and need to be fixed?"

"No. Not in the way that you mean. If you need healing, it's because of what your father did to you, not because of the way you were born. Who you are is who you are. There's nothing wrong with it."

Gaara looked up at him, his eyes hungry--but it wasn't lust, not exactly. The yearning went deeper than that. "I need you to touch me."

Shikamaru ran his hands up and down the length of that slim, smooth body. He pulled off Gaara's shirt, lowered his head and kissed the scars on his chest, one by one. He ran a finger over petal-soft lips. Gaara wrapped his lips around the finger, drawing it deep into the wet heat of his mouth. A moan rose from Shikamaru's throat, and a wave of dizziness washed over him as that mouth gently tugged and sucked. It was just his finger, but it felt so intense, Gaara might as well have been sucking his dick. His hips twitched, then began to move in an instinctive rhythm, pushing against the bed. His cock strained against his pants, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Gaara's hands went to Shikamaru's groin, and those slender, deft fingers undid his belt, then the buttons of his jeans. Shikamaru watched as his jeans hit the floor. A moment later, Gaara's joined them, followed by two pairs of boxers.

Shikamaru cast off his shirt. Then he lowered his head, and his lips brushed the head of Gaara's cock, but Gaara slid a hand into his hair and said, "I want you in me."

Shikamaru stared at him. "Are you sure? I mean…we could do it the other way around if you like. Maybe that might be better…"

"I want it this way. Please."

Shikamaru took a deep breath. "Okay." He looked at Gaara's face, and for a moment, he didn't really know what to do. Then he remembered the bottle of KY in the drawer. He'd bought it about a week ago. Just in case.

He opened the dresser drawer and rummaged through until he found it. Then he knelt on the bed. Gaara lay naked and stomach-down, looking up at Shikamaru over one shoulder. Waiting for him to take the lead. "I don't know how to do this, Gaara."

"It will feel natural once you get started."

"No, I mean…I really just don't know what to _do._ Should I stretch you out first with my fingers, or…"

"If you like."

Shikamaru squirted some lube into his hand and hesitated. _You shouldn't be doing this now. He's stoned._

But Gaara was on the bed, offering that pale, sleek body to him, and Shikamaru's head was buzzing, his thoughts careening in every direction, making it difficult for him to think. And Gaara was so beautiful…

_Just try fingering him a little, maybe. See how that goes._

Shikamaru took a deep breath. He reached down, and his fingertips found the opening between those small, round cheeks. He explored it, feeling the ring of muscle beneath the surface, the puckered dimple of flesh—tiny, tight and closed, like a flower bud. He pushed; the bud blossomed open, and his lube-slicked finger disappeared into Gaara's body. Hot, dry flesh pressed in around him. Gaara moaned and arched his back.

Shikamaru swallowed, mouth dry. Experimentally, he moved the finger in and out. Sliding deeper, he felt something round and firm, like a little rubber ball. He pressed. Gaara pushed back against his finger, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, mouth open and panting. "How's this?" Shikamaru whispered.

"Good."

Shikamaru's heart punched his ribs as if it wanted to break through them. His tongue crept out to wet his lips. "I'm going to put another one inside you. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Shikamaru eased another finger past that tight rim. He continued to rub the smooth gland with the tips of his fingers.

Gaara clenched the sheets in both fists. Small, even white teeth pressed into his lower lip. His eyes opened wide and gazed up at Shikamaru. His pupils were huge, two dark pools inside those blue-green rings, deep enough to drown in. "Oh God…don't stop, please…" He pushed his hips back and forth, rubbing his dick against the bed-sheets. A thin, soft whine escaped his throat. "Harder…"

He thrust his fingers deeper. His balls throbbed. They felt like they were about to explode.

"Shikamaru…oh, God…"

"What do you need?" he whispered.

"Fuck me."

The words sent a hot electric jolt to Shikamaru's cock. He pulled his fingers out of Gaara. With a shaking hand, he squirted more lube over his cock, then he pushed into that warm, waiting body. Gaara gasped and arched beneath him.

Shikamaru had never felt anything like it. His own hand didn't begin to compare. Gaara's body pressed in around him, hot, slick with lube and so very tight. His body moved of its own accord, hips thrusting hard and fast, pumping in and out of him. His mouth found Gaara's neck; he kissed that smooth, white skin, sucked it, bit it. His teeth pressed into one soft earlobe. He floated through each movement in a sweet daze, propelled by something beneath his rational mind.

Gaara kept making those soft, incredibly sexy little noises in his throat. Shikamaru wrapped an arm around him and pulled Gaara's back flush against his chest. _Look at me, _he thought.

As if in response to his will, Gaara's head turned, and his eyes opened. Shikamaru's fingers slid through his hair and gripped, anchoring his head in place as his hips rocked against Gaara's ass. He held Gaara tight with one arm and looked into those eyes as he moved inside his body, wanting to flow like water into every nook and hollow within him, wanting to plunge into the deepest recesses of his soul and psyche, to merge their very cells, to mend their two minds together. He could hear his own voice, as if from outside himself, crying Gaara's name over and over.

Gaara's eyes opened wider and went blank, as if he'd been struck blind. His body went rigid, and his voice rose in a series of sharp, breathless cries as he came. The sound of his voice pushed Shikamaru over the edge. His hips jerked one final time, and a moment later, he went limp, panting.

When he caught his breath, he pulled out and flopped onto the bed, drenched in sweat. He didn't speak. There were no words to encompass what he felt. After a moment, he surfaced from his daze and focused on Gaara's green eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

Shikamaru wrapped his arms around Gaara again and softly kissed his lips. He felt like he should say something else, but he couldn't find any words. And the moment was so perfect. Just laying there, feeling Gaara's warm, damp skin against his, listening to the soft in-and-out of his breathing—if Shikamaru lived a hundred years, he thought, he'd never find another moment as perfect as this one. Words would only spoil it. So he just held Gaara a little tighter and rubbed his back, fingertips reading the Braille of his spine, the tiny scars marring the smooth perfection of his skin. He hated the fact that Gaara had been hurt, but he didn't mind the scars. They were part of him.

Shikamaru ran his thumb over a tiny, bumpy scar on Gaara's shoulder. He kissed one closed eyelid, and Gaara let out a small, contented sigh.

_He's happy. _The thought swam like a drug through Shikamaru's veins, making his head buzz pleasantly. _My Gaara is happy._

Shikamaru held him tighter, closed his own eyes and drifted off to the gentle rhythm of Gaara's breathing.

-To be continued


	15. Chapter 15

Shikamaru woke to a ringtone of Puffy AmiYumi's "Friends Forever."

He rolled over, blinking, and fumbled around in the darkness, but his phone wasn't on the nightstand. _Where…? _Oh, right. He'd left it on the coffee table in front of the TV.

He glanced at the clock. Very late...or early, depending on one's perspective.

The ringtone kept going. This tune, he thought, was a lot less charming when you were hearing it at 3:32 am in a half-asleep daze. He got out of bed, walked across the dark bedroom and bumped his hip on something. The breath hissed between his teeth. "Ah, shit…"

"Shikamaru?" Gaara said, his voice fuzzy with sleep.

"I'm fine, it's nothing." He rubbed his sore hip. "Hang on." Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he stumbled into the living room. Who the hell was calling him at this hour, anyway? He picked up the phone and muttered, "Hello?"

A pause. He could hear breathing.

"Um, hello?"

"You're that boy, aren't you?" said a deep, hoarse voice. It sounded vaguely familiar, but Shikamaru couldn't attach it to a name or face. "You're the one he was with."

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. "Who is this?"

"I'm just a shadow now. Everything's gone. It's all falling apart."

"Um…" Shikamaru cleared his throat. "I think you have the wrong number."

"No. I wanted to warn you before I go."

"Warn me? What—"

"About Gaara."

Shikamaru's eyes widened. It was Gaara's father. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper and hissed, "How the hell did you get my number?"

"Listen to me. He's not human. He's something else. I've seen the devil's eyes looking out through his. I tried everything to purge the demon from him, but I failed."

"You're insane. Leave us alone."

"I'm trying to warn you, damn it! Listen. You must run. Run away from him as far and as fast as you can." His voice sounded thick and slurred. Shikamaru wondered if he was drunk. "Reject him and repent your ways, or he'll destroy you as he destroyed her brother. And me. He'll seep into the cracks in your soul like a poison and eat you alive from the inside."

"Fuck you. I don't know what kind of sick mind-game this is, but I don't want you calling me anymore. I never want to hear from you again."

"Three months before Karura gave birth to him, she dreamed that something came in through the bedroom window. An animal with red eyes. It came to her. _Into _her. Do you understand? She _knew_. She hated the thing inside her, but I convinced her it was all in her head. And now she's dead. She died bringing that unnatural thing into the world."

Shikamaru listened, mouth dry. He wanted to hang up the phone. But somehow he couldn't. Maybe it was the sheer weirdness of it—Gaara's dad calling him up in the middle of the night, drunk, and spouting this shit that sounded like something from _The Omen. _"You really need to get your head checked," said Shikamaru. "I'm serious, get a fucking CAT scan or something."

"What's the point? I have nothing left. My Karura is dead. My two real children have run away. And my youngest son is an abomination. Now, even he's gone. I am alone."

It was the note of self-pity in his voice that snapped Shikamaru out of his trance. His jaws tightened. After all the horror this man had inflicted on Gaara, how _dare _he feel the slightest pity for himself? "Maybe if you'd accepted Gaara as he was instead of trying to twist him into something else, you'd still _have _a son. It's no wonder your other kids ran away. You've done all this to yourself. So don't whine to me about being _alone._" Shikamaru punched the off button with his thumb, jaws clenched so hard they'd begun to ache. He tossed his cell phone down on the coffee table, then closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

Once he'd calmed himself, he went back into the bedroom and slid into bed beside Gaara.

"Who was it?" Gaara asked.

"No one important." He kissed Gaara's cheek. "Sorry I woke you."

"It's okay." Gaara snuggled closer.

Shikamaru held him, staring into space. The man's words echoed in his head: _She hated the thing inside her._ From the very beginning, Gaara had been despised, even by his own mother.

He held him a little tighter.

"Shikamaru?"

"You're my most important person, you know that?" he whispered. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Gaara nuzzled into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Shikamaru could feel the gentle tickle of his eyelashes whenever he blinked. Then Gaara's eyes closed, and his breathing grew soft and even.

Shikamaru drifted in and out of a light doze. After awhile, he began to wonder if he'd dreamed the bizarre conversation between Gaara's father and himself. The more time passed, the less real it seemed.

In any case, he wasn't going to tell Gaara. If his father was doing this to sow seeds of distrust between the two of them, the best thing was to just forget about it. Shikamaru wouldn't let that bastard hurt Gaara anymore.

* * *

He woke sometime later to the faint music of birdsong outside his window and the pinkish glow of early morning sunlight. Shikamaru glanced at the clock. 6:15. He sat up, peeling himself from sheets sticky with sweat and other things, and glanced down at Gaara.

He was still asleep, lips parted, face painted half in light and half in shadow. He looked so pale, so fragile. A porcelain doll.

Memories trickled into Shikamaru's sleepy mind. As last night's events played out in his head, a cold, heavy feeling grew in his stomach.

He'd wanted to be gentle and careful with Gaara the first time they did this. He'd wanted to prepare, to make it a special night that they'd both remember for the rest of their lives. Instead, he'd fucked him in a daze of lust while Gaara was stoned.

Shikamaru groaned and pressed the heel of one hand against his forehead.

He grabbed his boxers and pulled them on. Then he got out of bed, went into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. He stared into the mirror as the water dripped down from his cheeks and nose. His long, dark hair hung loose around his face. The more he thought about what had happened last night, the more the knot of dread in his stomach tightened.

He'd taken advantage of Gaara. There was no way around it. Even if Gaara had seemed willing, he hadn't been in his right mind. Shikamaru closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the mirror. _Damn it._

Yesterday, he'd told Gaara that what Yashamaru had done to him had been rape—because Gaara was too young, because he'd been pressured into it, faced with the possibility of losing someone he loved. But if that was the case, was Shikamaru any better? Gaara was not quite seventeen, still technically below the age of consent. And yesterday he'd told Shikamaru that he'd do anything, even cut off a hand, to keep his love. Of course Gaara wouldn't refuse his advances.

Was he just another Yashamaru? Another person using Gaara for his own selfish pleasure?

"Shikamaru?" Gaara called.

He swallowed, his throat dry. "I'm in here."

He heard approaching footsteps. Gaara stopped in the doorway; Shikamaru could see his reflection in the bathroom mirror. "I woke up and you weren't there," he said quietly.

"Sorry. Listen, Gaara, about last night…I..." He took a deep breath and turned to face him. Gaara was naked, achingly perfect, his skin the color of moonlit snow in the dim light, his eyes wells of green shadow. Shikamaru reached out to touch that pale perfection, then drew his hand back. "I did it all wrong. I should have gone slower. I was rough."

Gaara took a step toward him and lay a hand on his chest. "I wanted that. I wanted to feel how much you needed me." He rubbed Shikamaru's chest and leaned in until his lips almost brushed his ear. "Afterward, when you held me, I felt so warm. So safe. Like you really, truly wanted me—not just my body, but everything inside. Like you understood me down to the core of my being, even the ugly parts, and accepted it all. I've waited my whole life to experience that feeling."

Shikamaru hesitated, then touched Gaara's cheek with his fingertips. "You're okay? Really?"

"I'm fine. A little sore, but I don't mind that. It's proof that last night was real."

Shikamaru ran his hands through that shaggy, red hair and pulled Gaara close. For a moment, he just held him. "I barely knew what I was doing," he murmured. "I hope I didn't hurt you."

"You didn't."

"Can I take a look? Just to be sure?"

Gaara hesitated, then nodded. He went into the bedroom and lay stomach-down on the bed. Shikamaru gently parted his rear cheeks. A trace of dried blood clung to his rim—almost nothing, really, but Shikamaru's face still burned with shame at the sight. "I made you bleed."

"I've bled a lot worse before. I'm all right, honest." He hesitated. "Was it good for you?"

"It was incredible. Honestly, I never imagined that sex could be like that."

Gaara smiled. It was so rare to see him smile—_really _smile—that when he did, it was always amazing. Like rays of sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky.

Shikamaru ran a hand down Gaara's back. His skin felt slightly sticky. Not surprising; they'd made a mess of the bed-sheets last night. "Do you want to shower?"

"Together, you mean?"

"Sure. Why not? We're lovers now, aren't we?" _Lovers. _The word rang in his mind, giving him an odd, fluttery feeling in his stomach.

They went into the bathroom, and Shikamaru turned on the shower. Once the water warmed up, he took off his boxers and got into the shower stall. Gaara joined him a moment later, and Shikamaru grabbed a bar of soap. "Can I wash you?"

"Yes."

Shikamaru rubbed the soap between his hands, then lathered Gaara's chest, under his arms and between his thighs.

Gaara watched him. "I love your hands," he said.

"Really?" Shikamaru looked up. "Why?"

"Your fingers are so long. They're strong, but they're not rough or clumsy. They're gentle. And they're always warm."

"Yeah?" He slid his hands up and down Gaara's body, enjoying the feel of that silky skin beneath his palms. He paused, looking at a small, dark bruise on Gaara's neck. "Jeez, did I do this?" He ran his thumb over the mark. "I don't even remember how this happened. I must have gotten carried away when I was kissing you here."

"I don't mind."

"I wish I had some makeup or something to cover it…"

"I _want_ people to see it. I want them to know that I'm yours. That you've marked me."

Those words sent an electric jolt down his spine, straight to his cock. He closed his eyes, struggling to control his breathing.

"Shikamaru?" Gaara looked up at him. The water had slicked down his hair, and blood-red tendrils clung to his brow. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

Gaara reached down and curled his fingers around Shikamaru's erection. "Do you want me to take care of this for you?"

Shikamaru swallowed. His throat felt oddly tight, and his pulse drummed below his jaw. "Is it a good idea to do this in the shower? I mean, one of us might slip…"

"It's okay. I won't let you fall." Gaara knelt before him, looking up at him with those large, dark-ringed eyes. "Let me please you." He rubbed his soft cheek against Shikamaru's cock and hugged his legs.

Shikamaru's dick throbbed. The sight of Gaara kneeling there, his skin and hair gleaming wet, his lips parted, was almost too much. "Okay." The word escaped him as a breathless whisper, almost lost under the roar of the shower.

Gaara opened his mouth and engulfed the first few inches of Shikamaru's cock.

"Uh…" Shikamaru's hips twitched, pushing forward. He leaned against the stall wall and gripped a handful of Gaara's hair for purchase.

Gaara knew how to give blowjobs. That was immediately apparent. Shikamaru watched those lips slide up and down the length of his cock, taking him deeper and deeper; he felt the head bump against the back of Gaara's throat, and Gaara made a small, choked sound, but he didn't stop or even slow. One hand slipped between Shikamaru's thighs to play with his balls. God, that felt…incredible. Shikamaru gulped. He tightened his grip on Gaara's hair, and his breathing quickened as he thrust into that soft, wet mouth.

He came with a sharp cry, and Gaara swallowed without a hitch. He pulled back, licking his lips, and looked up at Shikamaru.

"Shit…wow. Gaara, that was…" He trailed off. His power of speech had deserted him; his brain was a white buzz of static, as if Gaara had sucked all his copious IQ points out through his dick, along with the contents of his balls. "Wow," he said again. After a moment, he blinked and looked down. "Do you want…"

"I'm okay right now." Gaara rested his cheek against Shikamaru's leg. "I just want to lay down with you. Can we do that?"

"Sure." Breathless, Shikamaru shut off the water, and they got out of the shower. He toweled off Gaara's red hair.

"Was I good?" Gaara asked. There was a hungry note in that deep, soft voice.

"You were wonderful." He leaned in and kissed the corner of Gaara's mouth. His body felt satisfied, but his mind was in a strange state, and he didn't quite know how to put his feelings into words. The image of Gaara on his knees in the shower, arms wrapped around Shikamaru's legs, lips wrapped around his cock, filled his mind. Then another image flashed through his head; that grainy home video, eight-year-old Gaara shaking, eyes wide with fear as he took off his clothes…

Shikamaru shook his head, trying to banish the memory. Suddenly his mouth was dry, his stomach a hard knot.

"Shikamaru?"

"I'm fine," he murmured.

They went back into the bedroom and lay down. Shikamaru noticed Gaara shivering. "Cold?"

"A little."

He wrapped Gaara up in blankets and hugged him close. For a few minutes, they just lay there together, and Shikamaru rubbed Gaara's back through the soft, fuzzy fabric.

Gaara let out a small, contented sigh and huddled deeper into the cocoon of blankets, until only his eyes were visible. He peered up at Shikamaru through a gap in the covers, and Shikamaru smiled at the sight; with those dark-ringed eyes, Gaara looked like a raccoon peering out of his den. A pensive raccoon. "You look like you're thinking about something."

"Chouji once told me that you have an IQ of over 200," said Gaara, his voice muffled by blankets.

Shikamaru tensed.

"Is it true?"

"Yeah. According to the one test I took, anyway. But I don't think it really matters."

"It doesn't?"

"Not really." Shikamaru looked away. "IQ is just a measure of your ability to take IQ tests. It doesn't necessarily translate into any kind of real-life success. I wouldn't have even bothered to take the test if Chouji hadn't asked me to."

"If people knew, you'd probably get a lot of attention. Wouldn't you?"

"Yeah. That's why I don't want anyone to know. I'm nothing special, and pretending like I am just makes me feel like a douche."

Gaara sat up, and the blankets slid off. He stared into Shikamaru's eyes. "But you understand more than most people. Don't you? There's got to be a lot going on in here." He touched Shikamaru's forehead.

"Maybe. But I understand just enough to realize how much I _don't_ understand."

"What do you mean?"

"There's just so much to learn. Every time we humans think we comprehend reality, we discover something that blows all our preconceptions out of the water. We build stronger microscopes to see tiny particles and discover even smaller particles that we never knew were there. If we ever make a telescope that can peer to the very edge of the universe, we'll probably discover another one next door. We've learned a lot since the Dark Ages, but the sum total of our knowledge as a species is probably only a tiny fraction of a single percent of everything there is to know. Even if I turned out to bethe smartest person on the planet, so what? There's still that ninety-nine point nine-nine-nine-nine percent of reality that I don't understand at all. If I'm closer to some sort of ultimate truth than anyone else, it's only by the width of an atom. That's why I don't want people to know. Because when people realize you have a high IQ, even if you haven't done shit with your life, suddenly everyone is interested in what you have to say. Suddenly, everyone puts you on a pedestal and wants you to tell them how to fix all their problems. I don't want that. I'm not going to strut around like some pompous windbag telling people how to live their lives. I'm just as confused as everyone else."

Gaara stared at him, his smooth brow furrowed.

"Sorry, I just went on a really long rant, didn't I?"

"I wouldn't call it a rant." Gaara lay his head on Shikamaru's chest. "I just wish I understood better. It's too much for me to wrap my little mind around."

Shikamaru dropped a kiss on his forehead. "Don't worry about it."

"But I'm not as smart as you. I worry that you're missing out on something because of that. I mean…I'm not really your equal."

"I don't feel that way. I'm no better than you or anyone else. If I was just hanging out with a bunch of Mensa types, we'd end up convincing each other that we really _were _better, and our lives would turn into this endless circle jerk of self-congratulatory bullshit. I need people like you and Chouji—people who can pull me back down to reality when I start getting lost up my own ass. That's not a good place to be."

"I'd rather you be lost up _my _ass," Gaara said with a perfectly straight face.

Shikamaru stared at him, mouth open slightly. Then he laughed, delighted. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you make a joke."

"Was that a joke?"

"Well, it sounded like one." He smiled, wrapped his arms around Gaara and pulled him close.

"But it's true. I liked feeling you inside me."

"I'm glad. But you know, it doesn't have to be just me in you all the time. We could do it the other way around too."

"That's really something you want?"

"Well, I'd like to try it sometime, at least. Who knows. I might like it."

Gaara stared into Shikamaru's eyes for a long moment. "You wouldn't mind that?"

Shikamaru felt warmth rising into his cheeks, and he averted his gaze, self-conscious. A few months ago, if anyone had told him he'd be asking to take it up the ass from another guy, he would have laughed at them. But then, that was before he'd met Gaara. Even if Gaara was male, he was so beautiful, so different from any other guy Shikamaru had known, that he seemed at times almost like a third sex altogether. "I wouldn't mind." He took Gaara's hand in his, lifted it to his mouth and kissed the knuckles. "There are a lot of things I'd like to try with you."

Just then, Gaara's stomach rumbled. Shikamaru smiled. "But right now, it sounds like it's time for breakfast."

"I _am _a little hungry."

Shikamaru slipped into a shirt and boxer shorts and tossed another shirt to Gaara. "What do you want to eat?"

"I don't know." Gaara pulled the shirt on. "What do we have?"

"I could make some French toast."

"That sounds good."

Once they'd dressed, they went into the kitchen, where Shikamaru whisked some eggs, milk and vanilla in a bowl. He fried up six slices of French toast, made some coffee for himself and some hot tea for Gaara. Once everything was ready, they sat down at the table and dug in.

Shikamaru poured syrup on his toast and paused. "I haven't really told my mom about…you know. About us."

"You're afraid of how she'll react?"

"Yeah. A little." He cleared his throat. "I don't know how she feels about gay relationships, to be honest. She's pretty conservative about a lot of things. Which is weird, because she used to be such a hippie when she was young. I mean, she and my dad went to Woodstock together, smoked pot, that kind of thing. I was never supposed to find out about that, but I did. My dad even admitted that he dropped acid a few times, and I'm pretty sure my mom did too. I mean, shit, even _I'd _never touch that stuff. And now she's so…straight-laced."

"I guess having a family changes you."

"Yeah. That was before the soul-crushing burden of parenthood bent their backs and sucked out their spirits."

"That's not how I meant it."

"I know. I'm just being melodramatic." He poked at a chunk of French toast with his fork.

"Have you been worrying about that? About her?"

"A little." He paused. "This might sound weird, but I'm wondering if she should meet you _before_ I tell her that we're a couple. I mean…if I just told her one day out of the blue, 'Hey Mom, I'm in love with another dude,' I'm pretty sure her head would explode. But if she gets to know you first and knows you're a decent guy, it might be easier for her to handle the idea that we're…you know. Or does that seem dishonest?"

"I don't know how these things are usually done. I can't really say." He paused. "You think we should have dinner with them or something?"

"Yeah. Something like that. Would you be okay with it? Meeting them? Or is it too soon?"

"I _do _want to meet them. But at the same time, the idea scares me a little."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm just worried they'd hate me."

"I really don't think they'll hate you. I mean…seriously, you don't have any idea how adorable you are, do you?"

Gaara stared at him blankly. "I'm adorable?"

"Trust me. You don't even have to say anything. Even if you just sit there like a rock the whole time, they'll adore you. My mom will want to feed you homemade rice-crispy treats and knit you a sweater. "

Gaara's smooth brow furrowed. "But before, you told me she's always finding fault with people."

"No, just with me. She's really sweet to guests."

He moved a piece of crust around on his plate, swirling it through the syrup. "When do you think we should see them?"

Before Shikamaru could answer, the door opened. Chouji entered and wiped off his shoes on the mat. "Hey, Shika. Gaara." He nodded to them.

"Hey, Chouji." Shikamaru hesitated, unsure what to say. "How is…everything?"

He raised his eyes and smiled, but it looked forced. There were dark rings under his eyes—not quite as pronounced as Gaara's, but noticeable. "Fine."

"Really?"

"Yeah. We talked for a long time. I think it helped. Listen, I didn't really sleep last night. I think I'm going to hit the hay and try to get some Z's."

"Okay."

Chouji retreated into his bedroom and shut the door.

"He's always worn out these days," Shikamaru muttered. "I know he loves her, but…hell, I don't know. All this drama, is it really worth it?" He carried his dirty dishes to the sink and ran them under hot water, then began scrubbing them with a sponge.

After a moment, Gaara joined him and began drying the clean dishes. "Am _I _worth it?" he asked.

"Huh?"

He lowered his gaze. "I've brought a lot of drama into your life."

"Wha—no, that's totally different." Shikamaru lay a soapy hand on his arm. "Meeting you is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I still don't understand how. But I'm glad you don't mind me being here. I just wish there was more I could do to repay you. If there _is _any way, just let me know. I…I've never had a job and I don't know if I'd be good at it, but if you ever need some extra money, I'll get one. Or I'd be willing to try, anyway."

"Don't worry about that now, Gaara. Someday in the future, if you want, you can get a job. But I'll take care of you until then. I'll find ways."

"But if it's a burden…"

"It's not. I don't mind sharing with the people I love." He stroked Gaara's cheek with the backs of his fingers. His hands were still soapy, but Gaara didn't seem to notice or mind. He looked up at Shikamaru, a strange, ineffable expression on his face—part wonder, part something else.

"I never imagined that a person like you could exist," Gaara said at last, quietly.

Warmth rose into Shikamaru's cheeks. "Ditto," he said.

They put the clean dishes away.

"Thanksgiving," Shikamaru said suddenly. "That might be a good time for you to meet my folks. It's coming up in about a month."

"What do people usually do for Thanksgiving?"

"You don't know?"

"My father and I never really celebrated it. He didn't approve of holidays in general. He thought they were frivolous."

"Well, uh…people get together with their family and friends and eat and hang out. Watch football, play air hockey, that kind of thing. There's usually turkey and pie."

"I see." He paused. "They'd be okay with me being there?"

"Sure. I mean, I'll call them sometime before then and ask if I can bring a guest, but I'm sure they'll be fine with it." He put the dry dishes away. "So, is there anything you want to do today?"

"I want to have sex with you again."

Warmth rose into Shikamaru's cheeks. "Y-you do?"

"Yes." Gaara took a step closer. "I want you to fuck me." His calm, neutral tone never wavered, though his eyes were a little wider than normal, filled with a strange intensity.

Shikamaru swallowed, his pulse thumping in his throat. He placed his hands on Gaara's shoulders. "It isn't just fucking, you know," he said quietly. "It's making love."

"Making love?" Gaara said, as if he'd never heard the phrase before.

"Yeah. When two people who love each other do that, that's what they call it, usually."

"Then I want you to make love to me."

"Are you sure you're ready for it so soon? I mean…you might want to give your body a chance to recover first."

"I'm okay."

"Even so…I think we should wait a little while."

Gaara looked up at him, his expression shielded. "You don't want to," he said quietly.

"No! I mean…not 'no I don't want to,' but no as in, that's not what I mean. It was wonderful, it's just…"

Gaara stared at him, brow furrowed.

Shikamaru took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. "When I was inside you, it felt really, really intense. It wasn't anything like masturbation. Not that I expected it to be the same, but…I wasn't prepared. It scared me a little. I just need time to…to reorient myself, I guess."

"It scared you?"

"Not in a bad way. Shit, I'm really not doing a good job of explaining this, am I?" He sighed. His hands slid down Gaara's arms; his thumbs stroked the soft, vulnerable skin at the bends of his inner elbows. "I'm just not used to feeling so much at once. I mean, you hear all these songs on the radio about falling in love, you see it all the time in movies and on TV, but it's all so fake and none of it gives you any idea about what it's really like. How it changes you. I don't think I ever understood what it _was _until I met you. It's just so new and I don't understand it and I'm afarid of hurting you somehow, without even meaning to. You're…" He trailed off, staring into Gaara's eyes. He touched that soft, pale cheek. "God, you're so beautiful."

Gaara's eyes widened a little. "Shikamaru…"

Shikamaru leaned down, his gaze never leaving those dark-ringed green eyes, until his lips touched Gaara's. _Soft lips…so soft... _He closed his eyes and melted into the kiss. His lips tingled pleasantly, as if a mild electric current had passed between them. His fingers slipped into Gaara's hair and massaged the back of his skull. Gaara made a small, soft sound deep in his throat, and a tremor ran through him. _He likes that, _thought Shikamaru. _He likes having his scalp rubbed. _He stored the information away in his head for later use. Then Gaara's tongue touched his and all thought dissolved.

They separated a long moment later, and Shikamaru rested his forehead against Gaara's, trying to catch his breath. His mind and heart whirled in dizzy circles. Everything seemed to be spinning out of control; there was no up or down, just him and Gaara, suspended in time and space.

_I'm in love, _he thought, dazed. The thing he'd always assumed would never happen to him had happened—in the craziest, most unexpected way possible.

But that was life.

"I want to take you out somewhere today," Shikamaru said impulsively.

"Like where?"

"I don't know. Anywhere. I want to take you somewhere you've never had a chance to go."

Gaara was silent a moment, studying his face. Then he said, "I've never been to an amusement park."

Shikamaru smiled.

-To be continued


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Only after writing this chapter did I find out there actually is a theme-park called Magic Galaxy, _and _a real roller coaster called the Steel Dragon (which has been dubbed one of the world's scariest coasters). But in any case, the park in this story is totally fictional, so the names are just a coincidence. I'm still feeling kind of insecure about this chapter...but it's been too long since I've posted anything, so I decided to put it up anyway. Hopefully it's not too crappy.

* * *

Shikamaru dialed Naruto's number from memory. After one ring, Naruto picked up and piped, "Hey, Shika! What's up?"

"Got any plans today?"

"Not really. I mean, I was gonna watch _Napolean Dynamite _again, but I can do that anytime. You doing something?"

"Gaara and Chouji and I were gonna go to Magic Galaxy. You know, that little amusement park near the mall. You wanna come?"

"Seriously? That's awesome!" Shikamaru winced and moved the phone several inches away from his ear. Naruto's voice always got _really _loud when he was excited. "I haven't been to that place since I was like eight years old! Hey, I'm going to call up Sakura and Kiba and see if they're doing anything. Maybe Ino will come too, huh? Then afterward we can all go back to my place and order pizza!"

"Sounds great. Where should we meet?"

"Once I round up the others I'll swing by and pick you up in the Toadmobile."

"Huh?"

"That's what I call my car now. Long story. See you soon!" He hung up.

"Well, Naruto says he's free, and he's bringing the others." Shikamaru turned and smiled at Gaara, who sat on the couch. "I'm glad you suggested this. This'll probably be a lot more fun than just going to the mall again." His smile faded when he noticed Gaara clutching his stomach with both hands. "Hey, you okay?" Shikamaru sat down beside him. "French toast not agreeing with you?"

"It's not that," murmured Gaara. "I get stomach cramps when I'm nervous."

Shikamaru rested a hand on his shoulder. "Should I not have invited everyone else? I know you're not really used to being around people…"

"I _want_ to see them again. I want to do this, I really do. But…I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'm going to screw this up—that I'll say something wrong or do something wrong and make them hate me, or even hurt them somehow. I want friends, but it seems like every time I try to get closer to someone it ends up blowing up in my face."

"What about me?"

"You're an exception. Somehow you're immune to the bad fate that affects everyone around me. I just…I don't want this to go wrong."

"Nothing is going to go wrong, Gaara. I know you haven't had very good experiences with people in the past, but that doesn't mean there's some kind of negative karma following you around."

"Sometimes it feels that way. At times, I think that's why everyone at school rejected me; they could sense it somehow. They didn't dare come near me, because everyone whose path crosses mine…"

Shikamaru placed a finger on his lips, gently silencing him. Gaara blinked. "Gaara, listen to me," Shikamaru said quietly, looking into his eyes. "My friends _like _you. They want to be your friend. They might bicker sometimes, but that's just how they are with each other. Really, they're very mellow, open-minded, accepting people. I wouldn't hang out with them otherwise." He framed Gaara's face between his hands and stroked his cheekbones with his thumbs. "Everything's going to be fine. But if you start feeling anxious about anything, just let me know, okay?" He placed a kiss on Gaara's forehead. "I'll take care of you."

A small tremor ran through Gaara's body. Slowly, the tension seeped out of his shoulders. Then a faint smile touched his lips. "How do you always know the magic words to make me feel better?"

"It's just the truth."

Gaara leaned against him. "You are an angel," he said quietly.

About an hour later, the Toadmobile pulled up in front of the apartment. Shikamaru, Gaara and Chouji all headed down the stairs and into the parking lot. Chouji had slept for a couple of hours that morning, so he didn't look quite so haggard now. In one hand he carried a red cooler loaded up with snacks.

"Yo!" Naruto, in the driver's seat, grinned and waved to them through the half-open window. Sakura was riding shotgun, as usual, with Kiba in back.

"Are we all going to fit in here?" asked Shikamaru.

"Sure, we'll find some way to squeeze everyone in."

They all piled into the backseat alongside Kiba. They fit, though just barely. Shikamaru, wedged in between Gaara and Chouji, felt like a sardine.

Naruto stepped on the gas. "Woo-hoo! We're going to Magic Galaxy!"

"What's in the cooler, Chouji?" asked Sakura.

"Cookies, chips, soda, PBJs and candy bars."

Kiba smiled, showing abnormally sharp canine teeth. "Any beer?"

"I'm pretty sure you can't bring beer into Magic Galaxy."

"Hey, are we picking up Ino?" Sakura asked.

"Yeah, I called her just before we left," Chouji said. "She'd like to come."

The Toadmobile pulled up in front of Ino's house—a three-story behemoth with a manicured lawn and rows of neatly pruned shrubberies. Naruto beeped the horn. A minute or two later, Ino came running out of the house in a fluffy pink sweater and tight jeans, her sequined purse swinging at her side.

"There's no way she's going to fit in this car," said Shikamaru.

"She can sit on my lap," Kiba said with a lewd smile. Chouji punched his arm. "Ow, hey! Joking!"

Ino paused outside the car, and her neatly tweezed eyebrows knitted in a frown. Evidently she was having the same doubts.

"Um, one of us is going to have to squeeze in behind the backseat," said Naruto.

Sakura winced. "That can't be legal. We should have just taken two cars. Why don't we drive back to Shika and Chouji's place and get the Volvo?"

"Nah, it's fine, I'll do it." Kiba climbed over the backseat and lay down in the space behind it. "I kinda prefer riding back here anyway. Just try not to get pulled over, okay?"

Ino opened the door, slid into the space Kiba had vacated, and they were off.

As they sailed down the highway, Naruto called, "How 'bout some tunes?"

"Sounds good. Who's up for a little Bloodhound Gang?" Kiba pulled a CD from the pocket of his hoodie and held it up.

"I'm not listening to Bloodhound Gang," said Sakura. "They're totally gross. How about Tori Amos?"

"Ack, not that," said Naruto. Sakura frowned, and he hastily added, "I'm not saying it's _bad. _It's just not really 'day at the amusement park' music."

"Yeah. Somehow, songs about being raped don't put me in a 'happy fun-time' kind of mood," Kiba said.

"She wrote _one _song about rape and that's all anyone remembers! Jeez. Okay, fine, let me see that CD of yours." Sakura leaned back and plucked it from his hand. "_Hooray for Boobies?" _She raised an eyebrow.

"What's wrong with boobies? They're fun!"

Naruto winced. "You guys, let's not fight, please?" he said, a slight whine in his voice. "Anyway, Chouji went to the trouble to pack food for all of us, I think we should let him decide. So, Chouji?"

"How about Belle and Sebastian?"

"Errmm…what's that?"

"Never mind."

Shikamaru sighed. This was getting troublesome. "Okay, I'm just going to choose a CD at random, and that's the one we'll listen to. Sound fair?" The rest of them murmured assent. He flipped open Naruto's CD case, reached in without looking at it, and plucked out… "The _Lion King _soundtrack." Shikamaru handed the CD to Naruto. "Put it in."

"Awesome."

They sang along to "The Circle of Life" in loud, off-key voices with the windows rolled down. A passing truck-driver gave them an odd look.

Shikamaru glanced at Gaara's face, checking the emotional weather there. He worried this might be a little overwhelming for him, being crammed into an overcrowded car with a group of loud, argumentative people, but his expression looked tranquil enough. "Are you okay?" he murmured, his lips moving close to Gaara's ear.

Gaara nodded.

Shikamaru smiled back and kissed the corner of his mouth. He looked up, saw Sakura staring at him with raised eyebrows, and realized that Chouji—and possibly Ino—were the only people in the car who knew that he and Gaara were more than friends. Shikamaru cleared his throat, heat rising into his cheeks. Wedged up against Gaara as he was, he could feel Gaara's heart pounding. But no one said anything.

A few minutes later, the car pulled into the parking lot in front of Magic Galaxy. They found a parking spot and hopped out. "Woo-hoo!" Naruto shouted. "Magic Galaxy, here we come!" He grabbed Sakura's hand and ran toward the entrance.

Once they'd all paid the admission and gotten their hands stamped, they entered the park.

"Ooh, this is even cooler than I remember," said Naruto. "Look, there's the carousel and the Ferris wheel, and there's the Haunted Castle, and there's the Steel Dragon roller coaster. Oh, and there's Raging River! Best water-ride _ever._"

"Where should we go first?" asked Ino.

"Hang on, let's get a map or something so we know where we're going," said Shikamaru.

"Nah, I still remember where everything is." Naruto winked. "Everyone just stick close to me. So, where to?"

"Haunted Castle," said Chouji. "That's my favorite. It's totally cheesy, but that's what makes it great."

"Okay, Haunted Castle it is!"

They ran up the hill to the Haunted Castle, which looked like something a Disney villain would live in, with its black-painted walls and cartoonish gargoyles crouched on the eaves. There was almost no line; after a five-minute wait, they piled into the motorized cart. The castle's doors swung open, and the cart moved forward along the rickety metal track, into a hallway festooned with fake cobwebs and flickering imitation gas-lamps. Creaks and ghostly noises emanated from the darkness ahead. Huge, fake-looking spiders dangled from the ceiling.

"You know, it's silly, but those things really _did _scare me when I was little," said Sakura, pointing. "I kept thinking they were going to drop on my head."

A sarcophagus on the wall sprang open, and the animatronic mummy inside cackled, eyes glowing red. Ino squealed in pretend-fear, and the others giggled.

Gaara paid no attention to his surroundings; he snuggled against Shikamaru's shoulder, eyes half-closed. Shikamaru put an arm around him and brushed a kiss across his forehead.

The cart rolled past a fake graveyard under a paper moon, and a recorded wolf-howl played. Kiba cupped his hands around his mouth and howled in response. A werewolf manikin lurched out from behind a cardboard tree, teeth bared. Everyone let out loud, fake screams. Even Gaara played along this time, though his "scream" was more like a low, monotone, "Ahhh."

A moment later, the cart glided out into daylight again, and they all climbed out.

"All that terror has made me hungry," said Chouji, digging through his cooler. "Anyone want cookies?"

"I'll have some," said Ino.

Chouji's eyes widened slightly. Then he smiled and handed her a shortbread cookie. She nibbled it as she strode forward. Naruto and Sakura jogged ahead, and Ino quickened her pace to keep up with them. Chouji watched her for a moment, then lowered his gaze and wiped the back of one hand across his eyes.

Shikamaru leaned a little closer. "Chouji?" he whispered. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Chouji smiled at him and looked away, but not before Shikamaru saw the glint of tears in his eyes. "I know it's silly," he whispered. "But it just makes me really happy to see her eating."

"Hey, slowpokes!" Kiba called, waving to them. "We're going on the Steel Dragon! You coming?"

"Don't rush us!" Shikamaru called back. "Yeesh."

Gaara reached out for his hand, and Shikamaru took it instinctively.

Naruto paused, staring at their intertwined hands. "Hey," he said, surprise in his voice. "You're holding hands."

"So we are," said Shikamaru. Beside him, he felt Gaara tense, and tightened his grip.

"Does that mean you guys are like…a couple now?"

Sakura, Ino and Kiba all turned to face them. Shikamaru stared. For a moment, his chest tightened. Then he took a deep breath and smiled. "Yeah. Gaara's my boyfriend."

Naruto's eyes went wide, and his mouth opened. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Kiba spread his arms wide and said, "So I'm officially the only one here who's _not _getting laid? Seriously, what gives?"

"Well, you could stand to refine your technique a bit," said Ino.

"Yeah," said Sakura. "Walking up to a girl and saying, 'Hey baby, do I make you horny?' really isn't the best way to score. I thought poor little Hinata was going to faint."

"Hey, she _did _agree to go to the dance with me. Eventually."

They resumed walking, Shikamaru still holding Gaara's hand. He looked over at him and smiled, and Gaara smiled back—just a slight curving of his lips, but Shikamaru had become attuned to his subtle expressions. He may as well have been beaming.

As they made their way toward the Steel Dragon, Sakura slowed until she was walking alongside Shikamaru and Gaara. "Congratulations," she whispered. Her expression was warm. "I'm happy for you."

They reached the roller coaster and got in line. They waited, watching as the car trundled up the track to the highest peak, then swooped down in a rush. They'd been standing there a few minutes when Gaara remarked, "I've never been on a roller-coaster before."

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow. "Never?"

He shook his head.

"Oh, you're in for a treat then. It's loads of fun," said Naruto.

Gaara watched the car shoot around a loop in the track as the passengers screamed. "Is this…safe?"

"Sure!"

Gaara bit his lower lip. Shikamaru leaned closer and whispered into his ear, "If you're nervous, we don't have to do this. We can just wait while the others go on."

"I wanted to come here. I wanted to try a roller coaster. It seems sort of silly to back out now."

"It's up to you. I just want you to have a good time today."

They reached the end of the line. An empty car pulled up in front of them.

"Awright!" shouted Naruto, and hopped in. Sakura got in beside him, while Chouji, Ino and Kiba squeezed into the middle row of seats. Shikamaru looked at Gaara and raised his eyebrows. Gaara hesitated, then got into the car.

Shikamaru slid in beside him.

"Welcome to the Steel Dragon!" a recorded voice boomed. "Keep your hands and arms inside the car at all times. And remember to _screeeeeam!_"

The shoulder-harnesses lowered and snapped into place, locking them in. Gaara's breathing quickened. He looked a little pale.

"Doing okay?" whispered Shikamaru.

"I'm reconsidering this," he murmured.

"Um…well, it's kind of too late to get off now." Shikamaru glanced at the track ahead—a dizzying array of loops, corkscrews, ups and downs. "Are you okay? I mean, if you're really freaked out, maybe we can ask the guy to…"

A jolt of movement cut him off as the car started up. With a clackety-clack of mechanics, it began its slow ascent up the first, mountainous incline.

"Here we go!" shouted Naruto. "Yeeeeah!"

The car climbed higher and higher, until the whole park lay beneath them. Shikamaru could see the people moving below like ants. And still, the car kept climbing. Gaara was almost hyperventilating now. A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, and his eyes were huge, the whites showing all around. Shikamaru took his sweat-slick hand and squeezed it.

The car reached the top of the incline.

Gaara met Shikamaru's gaze. His smooth brow wrinkled in fear. There was a desperate, pleading look in those eyes, as if he were asking Shikamaru to transport him back to solid ground through some magic power.

"Just hang on," Shikamaru said. "It'll be over in a few—"

The car plunged downward. Naruto and Kiba howled in delight. Sakura and Ino squealed. Chouji laughed. Gaara didn't make a sound. He was pressed against the back of his seat, arms stiff at his sides. He wore the most absolute, primal expression of terror Shikamaru had ever seen on a human face; teeth bared, eyes wide, mouth frozen open in a silent scream.

The car swooped, spiraled, raced along sideways, turned upside down and righted itself again. Through it all, Gaara maintained his death-grip on Shikamaru's hand. Shikamaru could almost feel his bones grinding together.

At last, the car slowed to a halt and they piled out, whooping and laughing in delight—all except Shikamaru, who'd been too focused on Gaara to really enjoy the coaster…and Gaara, who stumbled and fell to his hands and knees.

"Uh-oh," said Kiba. "He's gonna…"

Gaara retched onto the ground. Bits of that morning's French toast floated in the yellowish puddle.

Shikamaru winced, crouched next to Gaara and rested a hand on his back. He could feel him shaking. "You okay?"

"Never again." Gaara panted. "Do people really _enjoy _that?"

Naruto cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not for everybody, I guess."

Shikamaru helped Gaara to his feet. He fished a wad of mostly clean tissues from his pocket and wiped the vomit from Gaara's chin. "Here, let's sit down for a minute." He led him over to a bench, and they sat. Gaara leaned against him, breathing shallowly, his gaze downcast.

The others trailed after them and gathered around. Chouji opened the cooler, pulled out a thermos and held it out to Gaara. "Here, wash the taste out of your mouth."

Gaara paused, then took the thermos. "Thank you." He twisted off the cap, took a swig, and wiped the back of one hand across his lips.

Shikamaru rubbed the back of Gaara's neck with his fingertips. "Still feeling nauseous?"

"No. I'm okay now." He paused. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at this sort of thing, I guess."

"Aw, don't worry about it," said Naruto. "It's not a contest. I mean, you tried it and it wasn't for you, that's all. There's still probably lots of stuff here that you'd enjoy. C'mon, let's go check out the game booths!"

* * *

It was almost 7:00—closing time—when they left Magic Galaxy. Ino carried a pink teddy bear the size of a human child, which Chouji had won for her in one of the games. Sakura was eating a red slushie, and one of the face-paint artists had done up Naruto's face to look like a fox.

"So, who wants to go to my place?" said Naruto, grinning through his makeup. "The night is still young. And I've got beer and karaoke."

"You've got a karaoke machine?" Ino asked.

"Well, sort of. I have a karaoke game for my Playstation, but it works the same. Comes with microphones and everything. I've been dying to try it out with a bunch of people, it's really no fun on my own."

"I dunno, I've got work tomorrow…"

"Come on, pleeeeease?" Naruto slung an arm around Chouji's shoulders. "It won't be fun unless everyone's there."

Chouji laughed. "Okay, okay."

They piled into the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Naruto turned on the CD player, and they sang along to, "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" as they drove back to his apartment.

-To be continued


	17. Chapter 17

Once they arrived, Naruto ordered a couple of pizzas and dragged a twelve-pack of beer out of his fridge.

"None of us are old enough drink," Ino pointed out. "Is that really okay?"

"Fuck it," said Kiba, and popped a can open. "I'm old enough to vote, screw, get married, or join the army. I'm havin' a beer. Plus there's no way I'm singing karaoke unless I'm at least a _little _buzzed."

Shikamaru grinned. He sat on the couch, one arm slung around Gaara. "Hand me one of those, too. Gaara?"

"No thank you."

Naruto turned on the Playstation and grabbed a microphone. "Who wants to go first?" He looked around. "Anyone?"

"Oh heck, I'll go." Ino stood and took the microphone while Naruto scrolled through the list of songs on the screen. She picked Alanis Morisette's "Head Over Feet" and, with a self-conscious smile, she straightened, tossed her ponytail over one shoulder and held the microphone to her lips. She sang like a professional, every note on key (Ino, it seemed, was good at almost everything she tried). Shikamaru didn't miss the fact that she was looking warmly at Chouji throughout the whole thing.

After she finished, Kiba (who by now had chugged several beers) grabbed the microphone and belted out "Only the Good Die Young." When the song ended, he held the microphone out to Gaara, grinning. "Go on, let's see what you can do."

Gaara blinked, then lowered his gaze. A faint, pink blush colored his cheeks. "I can't sing."

"Aw, come on," Naruto said.

"Yeah, you can't be any worse than me." Kiba smirked. "Come on, Gaara, we won't make fun of you…much."

"We're all friends here," Sakura added.

Shikamaru gave him an encouraging smile.

Gaara hesitated. Then, slowly, he took the microphone and stood in front of them, looking profoundly uncomfortable. He skimmed the list of songs, selected "Hungry Eyes," and took a deep breath.

Shikamaru tried very hard not to wince. He hadn't really expected Gaara to be a fabulous singer, but even so…not only could Gaara not carry a tune, but _tune _seemed to be a foreign concept to him. What he was doing wasn't singing so much as talking along with the music in a steady monotone. And his deadpan expression never wavered. In his deep, emotionless voice, the normally cheerful song took on an ominous tone.

"I look at you and I fantasize. You're mine tonight. Now I've got you in my sights…with these hungry eyes…"

"Yikes," Kiba whispered.

Sakura elbowed him. Gaara didn't seem to notice. As the song went on, he seemed to relax and get into it a little more. During the second chorus, he even approached something resembling a melody, albeit a wobbly and off-key one.

Afterward, he sat on the couch with a half-embarrassed, half-pleased little smile. Shikamaru slung an arm around him and pulled him close. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I didn't do very well," said Gaara, though he was still smiling.

"It's not a singing contest," said Naruto, "it's just for fun."

"I thought the way you sang it was kind of sexy, actually," said Sakura. "Gave me shivers."

"Your turn, Shikamaru," Naruto said and stuck the microphone in his face.

"Meh." He turned his face away.

Chouji grinned. "Aw, come on, Shika. Everyone's gotta go."

"Yeah, that's the rule of karaoke night."

"Troublesome." He downed the last of his beer, picked up the microphone and stood. He scrutinized the list of songs on the TV screen. He'd already downed a couple cans, and his head was buzzing. "Jeez, I'm going to embarrass myself."

"What are you talking about?" Chouji said. "You've got a great voice."

Shikamaru grimaced. He'd never sung in front of anyone except Chouji, and only then during their jam sessions, when he was too stoned to be self-conscious. "Singing for other people really isn't my thing," he muttered.

"Oh, just suck it up and pick a song already," Sakura said.

His gaze settled on "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face." Oh, man. Was he really thinking about standing up here in front of all his friends and singing one of the drippiest, most sentimental love songs in the history of mankind? Especially when they all knew exactly _who _he was singing it to? Well, Sakura _had _told him to just pick something. What the hell, why not? He selected the song, breathed in deep, and began.

"The first time ever I saw your face, I thought the sun rose in your eyes…" Warmth rose into his cheeks, but he kept going. "The moon and stars were the gifts you gave to the dark and endless skies, my love…to the dark and empty skies…" Shikamaru's face grew hotter. Naruto and Kiba were probably going to tease him about this for the next decade.

Still, somehow he didn't care. He looked into Gaara's eyes and felt his self-consciousness receding. Everything else faded into unimportance. There were just those two green eyes staring out of their dark rings.

When it was over, he sat down next to Gaara, who took Shikamaru's hand and squeezed it. For a moment, silence hung thick in the air.

"Wow," Sakura said. "You know, Chouji was right. You've got a great voice."

"Yeah, like a professional almost," Kiba said. "Though the song was kind of gay..."

Sakura elbowed him again.

He cleared his throat. "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

Shikamaru rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not _that _good."

"Well, you're better than I am," said Sakura. "I always sound like a squawking parrot when I try to sing."

"Speaking of which, it's your turn." Naruto held the microphone out to her.

She selected Shania Twain's "Man, I Feel Like a Woman." She really did sound like a squawking parrot, but nobody seemed to mind.

After a few more rounds, the pizza arrived. They munched slices of anchovies and pepperoni and watched _Napolean Dynamite_. By the time they finished watching it was after 10:00.

"We should really start getting ready to go, guys," said Shikamaru. "Chouji's got work tomorrow and I've got to get up early for an all-day poker tournament."

"Aw, but it's still so early," said Naruto. "At least stay 'til midnight. Let's play a game or something."

"If they need to get up early, they should go," Sakura said. "We should hang out again sometime soon, though. This was fun."

Shikamaru smiled. "Yeah. It was."

They piled into Naruto's bright orange Jeep. He dropped Kiba off at his apartment, then drove to Ino's house. Chouji walked her to the door, then hugged her tight, and they shared a long, lingering kiss. Shikamaru had to look away. It was still kind of weird seeing his best friend be intimate with a girl. He wondered if Chouji felt the same way watching him and Gaara.

Once Ino was inside the house, Chouji returned to the Jeep, beaming. Naruto dropped the three of them off at their apartment building, and they waved goodbye as he drove away. Shikamaru unlocked the door to the building, and they entered.

"Today was a good day," Gaara said as they walked up the stairs. "Even though I got sick on the roller coaster, it was still a good day. Thank you. For taking me out."

Shikamaru squeezed his hand. "You're welcome."

Inside their own apartment, Chouji retired to his bedroom, Shikamaru and Gaara to theirs. They closed the door. Gaara kicked off his shoes, flopped onto the bed and lay on his back, gazing at the ceiling. Shikamaru stretched out next to him and lay a hand on Gaara's chest.

"Those people…do you think I could consider them my friends now?" Gaara asked.

"Sure."

"I have friends," he murmured. His gaze met Shikamaru's, and there was a look of wonder in his eyes. "I never dreamed that my life could be like this. And it's all because of you." He reached up to touch Shikamaru's cheek. "Before you, there was only darkness. You brought me into your world of light."

"Don't make me out to be more than I am. I just found you at the right time, that's all. But I'm glad I did." He looked into Gaara's eyes for a moment, then kissed him.

Gaara sighed softly against his lips, wrapped his arms around Shikamaru and pulled the other boy down on top of him. Shikamaru peppered kisses over his face and throat as he slid his hands beneath Gaara's shirt. He peeled the shirt off, dropped it to the floor and started to unbutton Gaara's jeans…then paused. "Do you want this right now?"

"Yes."

Shikamaru slid Gaara's jeans down, hooked a finger beneath the elastic waistband of his boxers and tugged them off, freeing his hard cock...then kissed him again, devouring his lips. Gaara always tasted so clean. So sweet. He slipped one hand behind Gaara's head and massaged the back of his neck with his fingertips. A tiny moan escaped Gaara's throat as Shikamaru filled that soft, wet mouth with his tongue.

Gaara gripped fistfuls of Shikamaru's shirt, pulled it off and rubbed one soft cheek against his chest, catlike. He reached up and tugged Shikamaru's hair free of its ponytail. Dark hair fell down around his shoulders, and Gaara plunged his hands into it, pulling Shikamaru's head down to his chest. He trailed kisses across that smooth chest until he encountered one small, pink nipple, swirled his tongue around it, kissed it, sucked it.

His own cock throbbed, straining against his jeans. Gaara lay a hand over the bulge, and a tremor ran through Shikamaru's body as he rubbed slowly. Shikamaru groaned and pushed into his hand, hips moving back and forth as Gaara rubbed him faster and harder through his jeans...then, regaining some measure of control, he pulled back and gripped Gaara's wrist. "You keep that up much longer I'm gonna come."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, love." Panting, he moved further down along the landscape of Gaara's body, trailing kisses along one slim, smooth thigh, then kissed the tip of his cock. He wanted to kiss every inch of that velvet skin. His tongue darted out and lapped a bead of sweat from Gaara's belly. Gaara's mouth fell open, gasping; his eyelids fluttered. Shikamaru placed two fingers against his balls and gently massaged them, watching those blue-green eyes. They'd once struck him as shielded and blank, but once Shikamaru had learned to read them, they revealed more than he ever thought possible.

"Inside me," Gaara whispered. "Please."

He squirted lube onto one hand and slipped a finger between the two small, tight cheeks of his ass. Slowly, he worked the finger into his asshole, his gaze never leaving Gaara's eyes. He pushed deeper, found the smooth firmness of his prostate and rubbed it. Gaara gasped. Shikamaru's mouth engulfed the tip of his cock, then slowly, he dragged his tongue over it.

"Oh, Shikamaru…feels so good…"

Shikamaru wrapped his fingers around Gaara's cock and stroked, still watching his face. It was wonderful to see this normally quiet, reserved boy lost in pleasure; wonderful to hear that deep, soft voice moaning, to see the flush in his cheeks grow brighter when Shikamaru rubbed that little pleasure-button inside him. He worked another finger into Gaara's asshole and stretched him.

"Mmm…" Gaara pushed back against his fingers, biting his lower lip.

Shikamaru smiled and ran his tongue slowly, slowly along the length of Gaara's cock—again, then again, stroking him from base to tip.

"Fuck me…please…"

"But this is nice. I can see your face." Shikamaru rubbed his own hard cock against the sheets as he moved his fingers in and out of Gaara's body. "I like watching your eyes when you come."

"Please? I need it."

"You know I can't resist when you beg like that." Shikamaru pulled his fingers out of Gaara's body. "Turn over."

Panting, Gaara rolled onto his belly. He reached back with both hands and spread his cheeks wide, revealing his lube-slicked asshole. At the sight, a jolt of heat ran through Shikamaru's body. Hands trembling, he fumbled with his belt and zipper, then yanked his jeans off, freeing his erect dick.

He pushed forward, into Gaara's waiting hole, and submerged himself in that tight, hot body. His hips rocked against Gaara's ass as he reached down and wrapped a hand around his lover's cock.

Afterward, they lay together on sweat-sticky sheets, spent and gasping for breath. A sweet haze of bliss enveloped Shikamaru; a high purer and sweeter than any he'd ever gotten from weed. Gaara snuggled against him, his body a collection of soft, warm, slender limbs and silky hair. Shikamaru planted a kiss on his forehead, and they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

* * *

They got up early the next morning, showered and dressed. Shikamaru made coffee and whipped up some pancakes from a box mix. He, Gaara and Chouji sat together in front of the TV, watching an episode of Thundercats from an old tape.

"You know, I'm amazed that Mumm-ra hasn't managed to kill them by now," said Shikamaru. "I mean, he's pretty much omnipotent. He can teleport, shapeshift, shoot red lightning out of his hands…"

"Yeah," said Chouji, "he should just teleport into Lion-o's bathroom while he's taking a crap and fry him before he recovers from the shock. His problem is that he gets caught up in concocting all these overly elaborate schemes. Classic villain flaw."

"I'm not sure he really wants to kill them at all. I think he's just looking for attention."

"It's a cartoon," Gaara said. "Aren't you taking it too seriously?"

Shikamaru chuckled. "Yeah, but analyzing it more deeply than it was ever meant to be analyzed is part of the fun."

"Exactly," Chouji said. "Though Ino said pretty much the same thing when I told her my theory about how the Sword of Omens works. Speaking of which, I should call her. She said she'd drive me to work today." He picked up his cell phone, went into the kitchen and dialed. A few seconds later, he said, "Mr. Yamanaka? Hi, it's Chouji. Is Ino there?" A pause. Then, "Oh my God."

Shikamaru muted the TV and looked over his shoulder. Chouji stood in the kitchen, a stunned look on his face.

"Well…is she all right? Can I see her? Sure…okay. I'll be there soon." He turned off his phone and looked at Shikamaru, his expression dazed. "They're taking her to the hospital."

A cold trickle of fear ran into Shikamaru's stomach. "What's wrong?"

"Concussion. She fainted while she was coming down the stairs and hit her head. They don't think it's too serious, but they want to get her a CT scan just to be sure." He grabbed his jacket. "I'm going to call off work and go see her."

"Are you sure? I mean, if it's a concussion, she just needs to rest. I'm sure she'll be fine."

"I have a bad feeling. I can't explain it. Can I take the car? Sorry, I know you were planning to go to a tournament today, I just…I really need to see her."

"Sure. Don't worry about it."

Chouji left the apartment. Shikamaru stared down at his pancakes. He suddenly didn't want the rest of them. He scraped the syrup-soaked remnants into the trash, then washed the plate.

* * *

A few hours later, he called Chouji's cell. After a few rings, Chouji picked up. "Hello?"

"Hi. Just wondering if everything's okay. Where are you?"

"I'm at Konoha Hospital."

"How's Ino?"

A pause. "The doctors were wondering why she fainted. They asked her some questions and she said she'd been feeling weak and dizzy a lot lately. So they did some tests."

"And?"

A pause. "They think her kidneys are shutting down."

"Oh. God. Are you serious?" Stupid question. Of course he wouldn't joke about something like that. "But…how, why?"

"Because that's what happens when your body doesn't get the nutrients it needs. It starts to eat away at itself. At its own organs." His voice was oddly flat, almost mechanical. As if he wasn't quite there. "I don't remember exactly what the doctors said. But that's the gist of it. And something about electrolytes. How binging and purging throws the electrolytes out of balance and that can hurt the organs. I didn't really understand." Another pause. "I thought she was getting better. I mean, she's been eating more lately, throwing up less. But I guess the damage had already been done. The doctors said her kidney function had probably been deteriorating for years, but the symptoms don't usually start showing up until the damage is really severe. I didn't know. I mean…I didn't realize it had been going on for so long."

"Can they do anything about it? I mean, it's still treatable, right?"

"She might need dialysis. A transplant would be her best bet, they said, but that might not happen for awhile. She…" His voice broke, and he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I have to go. I'll call you back when I can." He hung up before Shikamaru could say anything.

He stared at the phone in his hand.

"What is it?" Gaara asked.

"Ino's gone into renal failure." At his blank look, he added, "That means her kidneys aren't working right."

"Is she going to be okay?"

Shikamaru rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I hope so. I mean, as long as they start treating it now, I don't think the problem's going to be fatal. But it sounds kind of serious."

Gaara stared at him, his expression unreadable.

Shikamaru's chest ached dully. "Chouji's probably a wreck right now. He always hurts when the people he cares about are in pain." Damn. Chouji had finally gotten the girl of his dreams, the girl he'd always thought was out of reach, and just when it seemed like things were okay and Ino was getting her shit together... "I'm going to walk down to Taco Bell and get some stuff for dinner. I want to have something waiting for Chouji when he gets home. I'll be back in an hour or so, okay?"

"Okay," said Gaara.

* * *

Shikamaru was gone much longer than he expected. There was a huge line at the restaurant, almost trailing out the door. One of the registers was broken and people were shouting at each other behind the counter. The whole situation was so chaotic and troublesome that he just walked the extra mile to the grocery store and bought taco fixings. He returned almost three hours later and set the plastic bag in the kitchen. Then he went into the bedroom to find Gaara curled up in bed, hugging his teddy bear. There was a haunted look in those teal eyes. Hesitantly, Shikamaru sat on the edge of the bed and lay a hand on Gaara's shoulder. "Everything okay?"

For a long moment, he was silent, staring into space. Then he said quietly, "My father committed suicide."

Shikamaru tensed. "What?"

"I just saw it on the local news about two hours ago. He was kind of well-known, you know…my father. CEO of his own company. They found him in his house, on the kitchen floor." His voice was a low monotone, empty of emotion. Matter-of-fact. It reminded Shikamaru of the way Chouji had sounded on the phone, and it disturbed the hell out of him. "He shot himself in the mouth with a pistol."

"God, I'm sorry."

"They think he did it sometime early yesterday morning. Between 3:00 and 6:00 am."

A chill prickled up Shikamaru's spine. That would mean that Iwao had killed himself shortly after that bizarre telephone call. Mouth dry, he took Gaara's hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry," he said again. The words sounded hollow in his own ears, but it was all he could think to say. Even if Gaara and his father had hated each other, it still couldn't be an easy thing to learn your parent had just shot himself.

For a long moment, Gaara didn't respond. He stared into space, his eyes glazed and empty. His breathing quickened.

"Gaara?"

"Why is it?" he whispered. "Why do terrible things happen to everyone close to me?"

"It wasn't your fault. He was a very disturbed man."

"Maybe he was disturbed because he had me. And it's not just him. I mean…what happened today with Ino…"

"That has nothing to do with you. That happened because she has an eating disorder."

"That's what I keep telling myself. But in my heart, a part of me feels like I'm responsible."

"Gaara…you can't seriously think that her kidneys failed because of anything you did. I mean, the doctors said this is something that's been going on for years. It started long before she met you. It's just that she hasn't felt any symptoms until recently."

"But what if there are all these different potential realities for everyone, all existing at the same time, and when I come into their lives I pull bad realities into place? Like that experiment with the cat..."

"Huh?"

"The cat, the one in the box with the poison. Shroeder's…Shro-something."

"Schrödinger's cat?"

"Yes. You know? When the box is closed, the cat is both alive and dead at the same time, but when you open it, it's one or the other. It's like you destroy the other possibility by opening the box. That's how it is."

"I don't understand. I mean, that's just a thought experiment for quantum physicists, it's not even real. It has nothing to do with normal life."

"But what if that's what life is like? Maybe it's like there were two potential realities in place, one where her kidneys were fine and one where they were damaged, and by coming into her life I made the bad reality real."

"Where did you get this idea? Wait, are you stoned?" He cupped Gaara's chin, tilted his face upward and studied his red-rimmed, dilated eyes. "You are. Aren't you?"

"A little," he murmured. "So?"

He kept his voice low and gentle as he spoke: "You aren't thinking clearly right now."

"This has happened to me before, though. Some kid at school would say something nice to me, and for a little while I'd feel happy. Then the next day he'd find out his mother had cancer, or her dog would get hit by a car, and it was like somehow, I did it to them. Like for me to have that moment of happiness, I had to extract it from other people. Even that woman from the movie…the mouse-woman, the one who killed herself…it was like I'd done it somehow just by liking her voice." His breathing had quickened. "I'm a carrier for death and pain."

"No, Gaara. That's not how it is."

"I know it sounds crazy, but it doesn't feel crazy. It feels true. And I'm terrified that something bad will happen to you, too."

"Listen." Shikamaru held Gaara's face between his hands and looked deep into his wide eyes. "You didn't cause any of those things."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I just know. The world doesn't function like that."

"But…"

Shikamaru placed a finger gently against his lips. He could feel them trembling. "I know bad things have happened in the past. But that doesn't mean you're cursed. It doesn't mean you're doomed to repeat the same patterns. Things are different now. Okay?"

Gaara lowered his gaze. "Okay," he whispered.

* * *

Chouji got back late that afternoon. Though he tried to smile, there was a weary, hollow look in his eyes, and he seemed to have no appetite, which for him was almost unheard of.

Later that night, Shikamaru and Gaara went to bed. Around 5:30 am, Shikamaru woke and realized Gaara was no longer beside him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced through the half-open door, into the hall. He could just see the bathroom door; it was ajar and dark inside, so Gaara wasn't in there.

Where had he gone?

Shikamaru climbed out of bed, threw on a shirt and walked into the living room to find Gaara on the couch, stuffing some weed into a glass pipe. His hands shook. The circles around his eyes seemed darker than usual, and the eyes themselves were glazed and bloodshot. His ragged breathing echoed through the room.

"Gaara, what…"

"I just need something to calm me down."

Shikamaru sat down next to him and gently took the pipe from his hand. "I don't think you should. Not now."

"You don't understand. I need it."

"Why don't you talk to me instead? Let me help you. Please?"

Gaara buried his fingers in his hair. His shoulders shook. "I don't know what to do. I'm burning up inside. My brain is on fire. I can't stay still. I…" He gulped. "When I close my eyes I see so many ugly things. Please. If you won't let me smoke that then I'm just going to take five Excedrin PMs and knock myself out, because I can't deal with this."

"There's got to be a better way to handle this than drugging yourself into unconsciousness."

Silence.

"Gaara?"

"I'm afraid," he whispered.

"Of what?"

"Myself."

Shikamaru pulled Gaara into his arms, feeling helpless. "Shh. It's okay." He smoothed Gaara's hair. "Do you need anything? What would help you right now? I mean, besides drugs. Maybe a hot shower, or…or I could make you something warm to drink. Or I could just hold you." His fingers pushed deeper into that soft, thick hair and rubbed Gaara's scalp, trying to calm him.

Gaara curled up in his arms, breathing hard. Shikamaru placed two fingers against his throat, feeling his pulse. God, it was going so fast. 150 beats per minute at least. "Gaara? Tell me what I can do, please."

"I don't know," he whispered.

"Talk to me. Tell me what's going on in your mind right now, what you're feeling."

"I'm just so ashamed."

"Ashamed of what?"

"I don't know. Everything. I feel at times like I was never meant to be born. Like I'm some sort of cosmic mistake, something unnatural, and that's why bad things happen all around me."

Shikamaru felt a chill, and for a moment he found himself remembering what Gaara's father had said: _He's not human. He's something else. I've seen the devil's eyes looking out through his_. Then he pushed the thought away. He wasn't going to let the drunken ramblings of a warped, abusive psycho shape his perception of Gaara.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he said quietly. "I know it, and the rational part of your mind knows it as well. You're just hurt, that's all. You're shaken by what happened to your dad and to Ino. But those things are not your fault." He rubbed Gaara's back. "These feelings will pass. You just have to wait them out. I'm right here and I won't leave you. You can hold onto me until you feel calm again."

Gaara clutched him tight for a long moment, his face hidden in the hollow between Shikamaru's neck and shoulder. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "Will you keep talking to me?"

Shikamaru's fingers continued to massage in slow circles on his scalp as he murmured soft, reassuring nonsense into Gaara's ear, telling him to relax, to breathe deep, to focus on his voice and let his thoughts drift away.

Gaara's breathing slowed, and his grip on Shikamaru loosened a bit. Shikamaru kept talking to him until the tension seeped out of his body. Then he gently lifted him and carried him into the bedroom, where he lay him down on the bed. Shikamaru stretched out beside him and smoothed Gaara's hair back from his brow. Gaara's eyelids flickered. "Shikamaru…"

"Shh. Just sleep."

"Shikamaru, I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too." He brushed a kiss against his cheek. "Sleep."

Tomorrow, he was going to see about getting Gaara some therapy, maybe some real medication—something, anything to help him cope with these feelings. He couldn't just watch him suffer like this. It was breaking his heart.

* * *

Gaara closed his eyes, but he didn't sleep. He waited until Shikamaru had drifted off, then he sat up.

He knew what he needed to do. Maybe, deep down, he had known for some time, but he'd put it off because he was so happy here, happier than he'd ever been in his life. But if that happiness came at others' expense, he couldn't accept it.

Shikamaru kept saying it was all in his head. And there were times when Gaara almost believed him…but he just couldn't take the chance. If anything happened to Shikamaru because of him, it would be worse, a thousand times worse than Yashamaru's death.

He slipped out of bed and quietly dressed. In the living room, he tore a sheet of paper off a notepad and wrote.

_I can't stay here any longer. Please understand. If I stay, more bad things will happen. Forget about me and be happy, my first true friends.  
_

Gaara left the note on the coffee table. He thought about taking some food or money, but he couldn't do that—not to the people who'd already given him so much.

He walked out of the apartment and down the street with no idea where he was going. Somewhere he could be alone, he thought. Somewhere he couldn't hurt anyone.

* * *

_"Fuck!" _Shikamaru kicked over the coffee table. He stood, breathing hard, fists clenched, then hit the wall hard enough to crack the plaster.

Chouji grabbed his shoulders. "Take it easy, Shikamaru. We'll find him. Heck, he'll probably come back on his own after awhile, once he comes to his senses. He's just freaked out about what happened to his dad. Just don't panic, okay? Panicking won't help."

Shikamaru took a deep breath. He knew Chouji was right. Even so, he couldn't stop his pulse racing or the cold beads of sweat welling on his brow. Damn it, how could Gaara _do _this to him? How could he be so stupid? When Shikamaru found him, he was going to shake him so hard his teeth rattled. Then he was going to hug him even harder and never let go. "Crazy little redhead," he muttered and grabbed his jacket. "I'm going to go look for him."

"I'm coming with you."

* * *

They spent the next few days driving around town, searching. They put out a missing person notice. They called all their friends and told them to keep an eye out for Gaara. But he was nowhere to be found.

-To be continued


	18. Chapter 18

AN: This chapter contains violence, bloodshed and torture.

* * *

Gaara woke, head throbbing. His throat burned with thirst; his limbs ached. His body was twisted into an uncomfortable position, arms behind his back, legs scrunched up. He tried to move them, but he couldn't. Rough rope scraped his wrists.

His breathing quickened. He pried his eyes open, but there was nothing to see. Just darkness—a thick, suffocating darkness that pressed against his eyes like something tangible. Hot, foul-smelling air flooded his nostrils with each breath. He moved his fingers in the darkness, and they encountered metal mesh. When he tipped his head forward, his brow pressed against the same stuff. He tried to sit up and his head bumped against a low metal ceiling.

A cage. He was in a cage.

"Hello?" he called, voice shaking. No response.

How had he gotten here? What had happened? His memories were fuzzy, and it was hard to think through the pain in his head. The sound of his own breathing, the faint scrape of his fingernails against the cage's metal wires, echoed through his skull. "Hello?! Is anyone there?"

He heard the dull rustle of a plastic tarp, and light stabbed into his eyes. He squinted. When they adjusted to the light, he saw a pair of red eyes staring in at him through the wire mesh.

* * *

Shikamaru couldn't sleep.

Six days had passed since Gaara's disappearance. Since then, he hadn't had a single restful night. He was usually too anxious to sleep, and when he did, his dreams were dark.

Shikamaru rolled onto his side and stared at the digital clock. 2:34 am. He climbed out of bed, got dressed and left the apartment, moving quietly so as not to wake Chouji. It was raining lightly as he walked across the parking lot and got into the car.

By now, he thought, Gaara had probably hitchhiked out of town and was God-knew-where. He knew that just checking the same places again would get him nowhere. But he had to do something. Had to move around.

He started up the car, pulled out of the lot and drove around the neighborhood for fifteen minutes, scanning the darkness for a telltale flash of red hair or white skin. The world was a swamp of gray, brown and muddy green, shimmering through veils of rain. After awhile, he found himself on a lonely stretch of highway, his headlights two yellow knives cutting through the almost total darkness, his windshield wipers swishing in a hypnotic rhythm.

Then his car made an odd sputtering, rattling noise, and smoke belched out from under the hood. "Shit," he whispered. He did a three-point turnabout, but it was too late. The rattling sound grew louder, and with a final wheeze and cough of smoke, the car died.

Shikamaru slammed his fist on the dashboard.

The car—old even when he and Chouji first bought it—had been in failing health for awhile, and the "check engine" light had been on for a few days, but in his mania to find Gaara, he'd ignored it. Now, he got out of the car, opened the hood and scrutinized the engine, but in the rain and darkness he couldn't see much except a lot of smoke. He reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone, but his fingers encountered only some loose change. Of course. The one time he actually _needed _a cell phone, he'd forgotten to bring it.

"Troublesome," he muttered. He tried a few times (unsuccessfully) to start the car. Then, giving up, he turned and walked down the highway. He'd passed a gas station a couple miles back. Hopefully they'd have a pay phone. A dull ache of defeat suffused his entire body. "Damn it, Gaara," he whispered. Tears stung the corners of his eyes. "How could you do this to me? How could you leave me?"

He walked for an hour, but still, the gas station was nowhere in sight. Had it been further back than he thought? Or had he only imagined he saw one?

A pair of headlights cut through the darkness, coming toward him. Shikamaru squinted and shielded his eyes with one arm. Then a battered beige van pulled up alongside him. There were two people inside: a lanky young man with silvery-gray hair riding shotgun and a big guy in a hooded sweatshirt behind the wheel. The big guy had a scarf tied over his nose and mouth, leaving only his pale green eyes exposed.

"Need a lift?" said the silver-haired one, smiling. He had the strangest red eyes. "Kind of a shitty night to be out for a walk."

Shikamaru hesitated. His mother had given him no shortage of lectures about the dangers of accepting rides with strangers—most of whom, according to her, wanted to kill him, rape him or sell him into slavery, or possibly some combination of the three. But it was 3:00 am, raining, and Shikamaru was exhausted and discouraged and really didn't want to spend the rest of the night walking along the roadside, soaking wet. He supposed he could go back to his own car and wait out the rain, but what then? Fuck it, he'd take his chances.

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks."

"Climb on in. Door's unlocked."

He opened the door and slid into the backseat of the van. The interior was clean but incredibly stinky—a rotten, meaty smell, like something decomposing. But at least it was warm and dry. The guy in the hoodie stepped on the gas.

"I'm glad you came by," said Shikamaru. "My car broke down about a mile back and I don't have a phone on me. I just need to get back to town."

"No problem," said the silver-haired one. "Never hurts to help. We're just two wandering souls extending a hand to a fellow human being in need." He poked Mr. Hoodie's shoulder with a finger, smirked and winked. "Right, buddy-o-mine?"

"Shut up, Hidan," he growled.

Hidan's smile fell away. "God, Kakuzu, you're such a _cunt_. I'm always trying to be friendly and joke around with you, and you just swat me away like I'm a goddamn gnat. Fucking atheist cocksucker. I hope you choke on a donkey dick and die."

Kakuzu didn't look at him once though this tirade. He kept his gloved hands on the steering wheel, his eyes straight ahead.

"Don't ignore me, you asshole!"

"If you don't shut up, I'm going to duct-tape your mouth, tie you up, and leave you by the side of the road."

"Like I'd let you!"

Shikamaru rubbed his forehead. He'd started to wonder if being warm and dry was really worth another ten minutes of listening to these guys. He glanced out the window and saw a convenience store coming up on the right. "Uh…listen, can you just drop me off here?"

"We're not going to do that," Hidan said.

"What?"

Hidan smirked over one shoulder, then twisted in his seat to face him. There was a pistol in his hand, aimed at Shikamaru. "Just sit pretty," he said. "We're almost there."

Shikamaru stared into the dark barrel of the gun, his mouth dry. A cold wire cinched his stomach. "What the hell is this?"

"Just do what we say."

Shikamaru sat, heart knocking against his ribs. This had to be a bad dream. Maybe he was still in his bed, sleeping.

He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. No, if he started thinking like that, he'd never get out of this. He had to figure something out, and fast. But thinking, he discovered, was a lot more difficult when you were staring into the black mouth of a pistol, knowing that at any moment, the holder's finger might slip on the trigger and end your life.

A cold bead of sweat trickled down his face.

They passed a motionless car by the roadside. The car's headlights flicked on, and the wail of a siren cut through the night.

"Oh, fuck my face." Hidan hid the pistol beneath his coat. "It's the pigs. Did they see the gun?"

"Just cool it, probably a broken taillight or something. Let me handle this." Kakuzu pulled over.

Hidan glared at Shikamaru. "You better keep your mouth shut. You say one word and I'll shoot you in the dick, got that?"

Shikamaru clenched his jaw and glared back at Hidan.

Kakuzu rolled down the window as the cop approached. It was a woman, thirty-ish, with shoulder-length dark hair. "Something wrong, officer?"

She shone a flashlight into the car. "Your registration tags seem to be missing."

"That's weird," said Kakuzu. "I don't know why that would be."

"It's possible that someone stole them."

"People do that?"

"Yeah. They steal the tags and sell them on the street."

"Jeez. What's wrong with people these days?" He sighed. "Are you going to ticket me?"

"No, I just wanted to let you know." She smiled. "Make sure to get the vehicle re-registered sometime soon, or you're going to keep getting pulled over."

"Okay, thanks, officer."

Shikamaru fidgeted, hands clenched into tight fists. Another bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. His eyes darted to the car door; he wondered if he could open it and jump out now, while they were distracted. But it was locked. He bit his lower lip.

The police woman looked at him and frowned. "Are you okay?"

"He's gotta take a dump," Kakuzu said quickly. "Pardon the language. We're looking for a public restroom."

"Oh. Well, if you keep going down this road you'll hit a little diner in about five miles…"

"_They've got a gun!" _The words burst out of Shikamaru's mouth.

The woman's eyes widened, and shock flashed through them, but she didn't hesitate. Her hand darted for the holster at her hip, but Hidan was faster. He yanked out his pistol, leaned across Kakuzu's lap, shoved the pistol against the woman's forehead and pulled the trigger. Blood and brains sprayed out the back of her head, and she hit the ground.

Kakuzu hit the gas, and the car sped down the road.

"Now look what you did!" Hidan shouted. Dots of fresh blood gleamed on his cheeks and hair as he scowled at Shikamaru. "Didn't I tell you to keep your mouth shut?"

"Oh God." Shikamaru pressed a hand to his stomach. He felt sick.

"We'll have to work quickly now," said Kakuzu. "Once they find the body they'll start poking around the area."

"You shot her in cold blood," said Shikamaru, his voice shaking.

"Yeah, well if you'd just kept your fucking trap shut, she'd still be alive."

"Who are you people? Why are you doing this?"

"Just shut up and think about what you've done. I bet that dead pig has a bunch of little piglets waiting for Mommy to come home. I bet they're gonna cry themselves to sleep for months now. I hope you're happy. Apparently that's what you wanted. I mean, you must have known we would have to shoot her if you said anything."

Shikamaru buried his face in his hands and moaned. Over and over in his mind, he saw the blood spraying out of the back of that woman's head. Just minutes ago she'd been alive, smiling and talking. Now she was a cooling piece of meat on the ground. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes. A wave of nausea rolled over him, and he retched.

"Aw, shit, right on the upholstery! I just cleaned this thing!"

"Stop whining," said Kakuzu. "I'll clean it up myself if you'll just stay silent for five minutes."

"Dick," Hidan muttered.

They turned off the highway and drove for awhile longer, down a gravel road running through rain-sodden cornfields. Then they pulled up in front of a dilapidated farmhouse that looked as if it had been abandoned for years. Shikamaru sat, breathing fast. Maybe they just wanted money, he thought. Maybe they were planning to hold him for ransom. But he didn't really believe that. His family wasn't rich. Why would they pick him? No. If he went into that house, he wouldn't come out alive. He had to make a run for it.

He'd have only a second or two to act. He still had his car keys in his pocket; now, his hand fisted around them so the tip of one sharp key protruded from his fist. When one of them opened the door, he had to drive the key into a vulnerable point—the eye or the throat—and run like hell.

The car stopped. Kakuzu got out, circled around to Shikamaru's side and opened the door.

Shikamaru lunged. Kakuzu grabbed his arm and punched him in the gut. He doubled over, gasping for breath. "Nice try," said Kakuzu. A hypo stung Shikamaru's neck, and all went black.

* * *

He woke sitting upright in a chair, dizzy, sick and aching.

He was naked. He could feel the cool air on his skin and the hard wooden chair beneath his ass. Also, he was bound. Scratchy ropes chafed his wrists and ankles when he tried to move. His eyelids flickered but refused to open. He tried to lift his head, but it just rolled to one side.

Kakuzu's voice filtered into his foggy consciousness: "Yeah, we've got them both, come and see for yourself if you need proof. But make it quick, we gotta be out of here by morning."

Shikamaru's heartbeat quickened. He didn't know why he was here, but whatever they had planned for him, it couldn't be good. Shikamaru forced his mind to focus and took inventory of the ropes binding him. There was one holding his wrists together behind his back. Another bound his arms to the back of the chair. Two more ropes held his ankles to the chair's legs, another two had been looped around his knees, tying them to the chair's arms so his thighs were forced wide open. God, they had him trussed up like a centerfold in a bondage magazine. He really didn't want to think about why they'd taken his clothes off.

When he managed to pry his eyes open a crack, he saw that he was in a basement with cement walls, lit by a single, harsh overhead bulb. His vision blurred, refocused and blurred again. Kakuzu was sitting upright in a chair, his back to Shikamaru, a phone to his ear. "I'll meet you on the corner of Beeker and Elm. Bring the money. Cash. No cash, no deal. Hey, your reception's pretty shitty. You're not calling on a cell, are you?" A pause. "You dumb little shit, don't you know cell phones aren't secure? Use a land line if you need to call me again." He hung up. "Stupid kids. Don't know anything." He looked over one shoulder at Shikamaru. "Hey, Hidan. This one's awake."

Shikamaru heard the _shhh _of metal sliding against metal. His gaze moved toward it, and he saw Hidan leaning against the wall, sharpening a knife and grinning like a hungry jackal. "Morning, Sunshine."

"What the hell is going on here?" Shikamaru's voice emerged as a weak croak. "Why am I naked?"

"People are less likely to put up a fight or attempt escape when they're naked," said Kakuzu. "I mean, even if you were to wriggle out of those ropes—which you can't, by the way—can you really see yourself running out of this house with your dick wagging and your scrawny white ass out for all the world to see? Kind of an embarrassing picture, isn't it?"

"I think he looks real purdy," Hidan said, affecting a cheesy southern drawl.

"Who are you people? What do you want with me?"

"In a word, we're hitmen," said Kakuzu.

"Yup. We were hired to kill you. Here we were, trying to figure out how to nab you without attracting too much attention. Then, lo and behold, while we were scoping out your apartment one night, you leave the place alone and get stranded on an isolated stretch of road. It was like a gift from heaven."

"Hitmen?" Shikamaru stared, dread growing like a void in his stomach. "Who hired you?"

"Some punk kid in Abercrombie and Fitch clothes," Kakuzu replied in his deep, growling voice. "Said you and your friend messed him up real bad. Chewed off his nose."

Hidan snickered. "You should have heard him. It was hilarious." He raised his hands to his eyes and mimed sobbing. "'Oooh, I'm soooo ugly! I'm never gonna get laaaaaid, and it's all those queers' fault! Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo!"

Realization washed over Shikamaru in a cold tide. The men who'd attacked Gaara and him by the canal—the men he'd all but forgotten about. Now, he remembered the sight of Gaara gnawing on the man's face, the piercing screams… "He hired you to kill me?"

"Not just you."

Shikamaru sat up straighter. "Gaara," he whispered. His heartbeat quickened. "You have him, don't you? Where is Gaara?!"

Kakuzu walked to a tarp-covered lump in the corner of the room and whisked the tarp off. Beneath was a wire cage—it looked like a dog crate—and inside, bound, gagged and scrunched into a ball, was Gaara. His eyes were closed, one of them bruised, his nose bloodied. Faint, raspy breathing echoed through the room.

"Oh God. Gaara…Gaara, can you hear me?"

Gaara's eyelids flickered and opened a crack. He made a muffled noise through his gag.

Shikamaru's chest tightened. Think, he had to _think. _But panic filled his head like alarm bells, blotting out all thought. His head buzzed with terror. At the same time, he felt a strange, growing disconnection with his body and the situation as a whole, as if he were sitting outside himself watching the events unfold like a movie.

Gaara squirmed in his cage. Blood stained his clothes and caked his hair. A yellowish bruise marred his cheek.

"Your redheaded friend here was a lot harder to catch than you," said Kakuzu. "Fought like a demon. Damn near killed me."

"Yeah, because you're a pussy," said Hidan.

"Shut up, Hidan. You wouldn't believe what it took to subdue this little bastard."

"Oh come on, he looks like he weighs about eighty-five pounds. How strong can he be? I can't believe he even managed to hurt you. It's like getting fucked up by Strawberry Shortcake."

Kakuzu took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It doesn't matter now. We've got them. Tomorrow we can get out of this hick state."

"But I get to play with the bodies first," Hidan said. "You promised. Remember?"

"Play?" Shikamaru's voice shook.

"Me, I'm just in this line of work for the money," Kakuzu said. "My partner is…something else."

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."

"Whatever."

Shikamaru's breathing quickened, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. He tugged at his restraints, trying to loosen the ropes, but it was no good; they were tied so tight, the circulation had been entirely cut off, and his hands may as well have been gloves filled with hamburger meat. He couldn't even feel them. But he kept wriggling, teeth gritted. _Come on…come on…_

"You won't get out that way," said Kakuzu. "We're not amateurs, you know." He turned to Hidan. "I'm going to go pick up our client. He wants to confirm with his own eyes that these are the two punks who hurt him."

Gaara had been working at the gag with his mouth for the past few minutes; now, he finally managed to spit it out and shouted, "Shikamaru had nothing to do with it, it was all me! I'm the one you want! Let him go!"

"Gaara, no, don't…"

"I don't really care who did what. This is just a job to me, and our client wants you both dead. Watch them while I'm gone, Hidan. Don't let them out of your sight." He walked up the stairs, vanishing from sight, and Shikamaru heard a door slam.

Hidan pulled up a chair and sat. "Kakuzu's such an asshole. Always bossing me around and snapping at me, saying I'm a perverted freak and that my religion is stupid…"

"Please, please, just let Shikamaru go and you can do whatever you want to me."

"Shut up already, jeez." Hidan opened the cage door a crack, stuffed the gag back into Gaara's mouth, and slammed the door shut again. "What makes you think we'd let either one of you go?"

Shikamaru tried to wiggle his fingers, to restore the circulation, but his hands wouldn't move. His brain raced in frantic circles, producing and discarding a dozen plans. There had to be some way to convince Hidan to untie him. "Listen," he said, "how much are you being paid for this job? Whatever it is, I can find some way to get you twice that much."

"We're being paid more than you could ever get, trust me. You messed up one rich little asshole. And I know your parents aren't wealthy—we did our research—so don't even try the 'my family will give you whatever you want' line. Besides…I, personally, am not in this for the money." He chuckled.

Shikamaru fought back the tide of panic. He looked into Gaara's wide eyes. If he could just find some way to get Gaara's cage open…but he couldn't even free himself. He wet his dry lips and stared at the door of Gaara's cage, held shut by a simple metal latch.

He'd seen Gaara's "monster" in action once before. In that state, he had the strength of a berserker. Right now, Gaara—scared, in pain, weakened by his injuries—couldn't tear through his restraints or break through the cage-door. But maybe the monster could.

_If I could just get him worked up enough…_

Anger, he thought. Gaara's anger would bring out the monster. And what would make him angry? Seeing someone hurt Shikamaru.

It was a ludicrous, insane, probably futile plan, but it was also the only thing he could think of—their only chance of escaping this nightmare alive.

"Just a little while longer," Hidan said, smiling. He leaned closer. "Once Kakuzu gets back, it's all over for you. Kakuzu gets his money, I get my kicks, and our client gets his revenge. Win-win situation for everyone. Except for you two, of course."

Shikamaru spat at his face. The white glob landed on the corner of Hidan's mouth. He licked it up, then backhanded Shikamaru so hard his head snapped to one side. "I wouldn't push me if I were you. We've got about an hour together—the last hour of your life. It can be relatively painless, or I can turn it into a hell on Earth."

"Fine, then. Do whatever you want to me, you fucking pervert. I don't give a shit. I can handle anything you can dish out."

Gaara stared at him through the bars of the cage, eyes wide. He made a muffled sound through the gag and shook his head.

Hidan laughed. "Oh, we've got a live one here! You think you can handle anything, huh? Fine, let's see." He turned to a wooden table and surveyed the tools laid out on it; a chainsaw, a drill, a hammer, and a few other odds and ends. "I can't kill you 'til my partner gets back, but he didn't say anything about torturing the shit out of you. In five minutes I'll have you squealing like a little girl."

"Yeah right. Fucking pansy. Take your best shot."

He picked up the chainsaw. Shikamaru's stomach plunged into his feet. Hidan pushed a button, and the chainsaw roared. Then he laughed and set it down. "Nah, I'm just fuckin' with you. I'm gonna use this instead." He picked up a cordless power drill and switched it on. The drill whirred as he walked toward Shikamaru.

Maybe this had been a bad idea, after all.

Hidan licked his lips. Then he lowered the drill to Shikamaru's left thigh and inserted the tip into his skin. A sharp pain blossomed out from that single point and radiated through Shikamaru's leg. He bit down on his lip, trying not to scream, but it was a lost cause.

He screamed.

Gaara cried out through the gag.

The drill pressed into the muscle of his thigh. Then Hidan pulled it out. Shikamaru panted, dizzy with pain. He looked down and saw the deep puncture wound in his thigh welling up with blood. "Is…" He gulped, head spinning, fighting the urge to vomit. "Is that all you got?"

Hidan smiled. "Y'know, I was going to try not to mess you up too badly. I mean, I don't mind my corpses a _little _bloody, but I don't like 'em too mangled. Still…I think hearing you scream will be worth it." He switched on the drill and inserted it again, widening the wound in his thigh.

The pain erupted like a geyser inside his brain, and for a moment, everything went red. When it stopped, the sound of Gaara's sobs reached him. "Please," Gaara was saying, his words muffled by the gag, barely understandable. "Please stop…please stop…"

Shikamaru's chest ached. _I'm sorry, Gaara. I'm so sorry, but this is all I can think of, I have to try…_

"Had enough?" said Hidan.

Shikamaru's leg throbbed. He wondered dimly how deep the drill had gone in. Two inches? Three inches? Panting, he raised his head and met Hidan's gaze. "Fuck you," he croaked.

Hidan pressed a finger against the wound, and fresh blood welled up. Shikamaru squirmed, gasping.

"What was that, again?"

"F-fuck…y-y-you."

Hidan applied more pressure. The tip of his finger entered the puncture wound and slid into the wet, bloody meat beneath. A small sound escaped Shikamaru's throat.

Hidan licked his lips. "Care to beg for mercy?"

Shikamaru clenched his jaw, breathing hard through his nose, and didn't reply.

"You've got balls, kid. I'll give you that. But take my word for it, I _will _have you begging before my partner gets back." He pushed, and his finger sank another inch into the puncture.

As if from far away, Shikamaru could hear Gaara screaming muffled words through his gag.

Raw, damaged nerve-endings flared as Hidan pushed deeper still.

Hidan glanced at Gaara and smirked. "Your buddy here is a glutton for pain." He looked down at his finger, now submerged to the knuckle in Shikamaru's thigh. "Of course, I can't damage you _too _badly before the client gets here, or Kakuzu will chew me out…"

"Wh-what are you, his b-b-bitch?"

The corner of Hidan's eye twitched. "Of course, I've been chewed out before. I can handle it." He shoved the finger all the way into the wound. Then—before Shikamaru had even stopped screaming—he added a second, digging around in the meat of his thigh, stretching and reaming the puncture in a bizarre simulation of foreplay. Blood poured out onto the chair and dripped to the floor.

Somewhere beneath the pain, Shikamaru wondered how much physical therapy he'd need before he could use this leg again.

Somewhere in the midst of it, he blacked out, and when he came to, Hidan was standing over him, the first two fingers of his right hand glistening and dripping with blood. "You want some more, bitch?" he asked, smirking. "Or have you had enough?"

Shikamaru blinked. He couldn't hear Gaara anymore. He wondered what that meant. He was almost afraid to look over at his cage. His head buzzed. He just wanted this nightmare to be over. He wanted to be home. Tears welled in his eyes. One spilled out and slid down his cheek. He lowered his head, but Hidan grabbed his chin and wrenched it back up. "Don't be stingy, now. Let me see those tears." He leaned closer. Then his tongue slipped out to lick the moisture from Shikamaru's cheek. "Mmm…"

Shikamaru snapped at him, and his teeth closed over the tip of Hidan's tongue. Hidan's eyes widened. He pulled back, freeing himself, and covered his mouth with both hands. He lowered his hands, shaking, and blood frothed from his mouth. "Ahhh—thit! You bih me! You bathtard, you bih my ung!" He spat blood and glared at Shikamaru, his eyes blazing.

Slowly, he turned and picked up the power drill. Then he grabbed Shikamaru's hair, anchoring his head in place. The drill whirred and buzzed ominously, like some huge angry hornet, as it moved toward his right eye.

Shikamaru tried to jerk his head away, but Hidan's grip on his hair tightened. He stared, panting, as the drill moved closer and closer to his eye.

Dimly, as if from another world, he heard a metallic clanging, like something banging on the wall of Gaara's cage.

_Come on, Gaara, come on…_

The whir of the drill seemed very, very loud. It filled his head. The drill head was close, so close he couldn't focus on it anymore—it was just a dark, spinning blur, millimeters from the surface of his eye, and somehow he couldn't look away.

Then, abruptly, it stopped, and silence rang in his ears. Hidan pulled the drill back.

Panting, Shikamaru looked at Gaara's cage. It was empty. His gaze traveled across the room, and he saw Gaara standing, holding the chainsaw from the table in both hands. He was bruised and blood-spattered, torn ropes dangling from bloody wrists, face stretched in a wide grin, teeth bared to the gums, eyes huge and bloodshot, glowing with a brilliant, crazed light.

Hidan stared, jaw hanging.

Gaara's tongue slipped out to lick his lips. The chainsaw roared to life in his hands. Then he lunged, the blade buzzing and whirring.

Hidan screamed. In one smooth movement, the blade cleaved through his neck, and his head fell. For a moment, the body stood frozen, arms outstretched. Then it toppled over and hit the floor with a thud.

Gaara kicked Hidan's head across the room. Then he turned to face Shikamaru, teeth still bared in that unnatural grin. "Hi," said a rough, deep, growling voice. It was Gaara's, but utterly unlike his usual soft tone. "You look scared. What's wrong? This is what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted me to come out. And here I am."

"I couldn't think of anything else," Shikamaru said. His voice sounded very small in his own ears. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Oh, but this is _good. _This is _great._" He took a step closer. "It's been a long time since he's given me this much control. And I'm not about to give it back so easily. I want to _play._"

"Hidan?" Kakuzu's deep voice called from the top of the stairwell. "Hidan, what the fuck is going on down there?"

Gaara toward toward the voice and chuckled. "Playtime." The chainsaw buzzed to life again as he walked up the stairs. Shikamaru heard a ragged scream, then another. A moment later, the screams stopped and the chainsaw fell silent. A dark rivulet of blood ran down the steps and pooled on the floor, reflecting the yellow gleam of the bulb overhead.

Shikamaru sat in the chair, bound, sick and dizzy with pain. He wondered vaguely how much blood he had lost and how much longer he could stay conscious.

Hidan's body lay on the floor beside him. His head lay a few yards away, staring glazed-eyed into space. Kakuzu was probably dead. Where was the client, the guy who'd hired them? Either dead or run away.

But where was Gaara?

He heard heavy footsteps coming slowly down the stairs, and there was Gaara, standing, grinning, chainsaw in his hands—no longer roaring, but dripping blood. Shikamaru looked into his eyes, and it was like staring into two dark, empty tunnels. There was no hint of the person he knew and loved. "Gaara?" His voice emerged small and frightened. A little boy voice.

"I'm not Gaara," the deep, scratchy voice replied. "I'm the one who lives inside him. My name is Shukaku."

Shikamaru's heartbeats echoed through his skull. He stared, head buzzing. His vision kept blurring and tunneling. But he knew that if he passed out now, he might not wake up. He took a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to focus. "I think you're still Gaara," he said. "I think you're a part of him."

"That's where you're wrong."

"Gaara, for God's sake, snap out of it! We have to get out of this place…"

"He told you, didn't he?"

"Wh-what?"

"Gaara's dear ol' dad. He told you what I really am, what _we _are. We're children of hell, Gaara and I. Demons, born of evil, fated to live in darkness."

"No. Your…your father planted that idea in your head. You're not a demon. There's no such thing. Please put down the chainsaw and untie me so we can go home."

Gaara set the chainsaw on the table, and a wave of relief washed over Shikamaru…but when Gaara approached, the crazed gleam hadn't faded from his eyes. He crouched before Shikamaru and gazed up at him, eyes half-lidded, giving him a predatory look—like some huge cat scrutinizing its prey. Teeth gleamed white between his smiling lips. "Gaara and I may be different," he said, "but we share the same soul." With one hand, he lightly touched Shikamaru's leg. "I feel what he feels. I've felt you inside him." He licked blood from Shikamaru's thigh. "We've been very close, you and I."

A faint moan escaped Shikamaru's throat. "Please, I…I'm in so much pain right now. I'm about to pass out. And I'm so tired and scared. I want to go home."

"I know." He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. "I can smell your fear. It's seeping from your every pore." His eyes opened, and his smile widened a little. "You're frightened of me." He rose slowly from his crouch. His bloody fingers trailed over Shikamaru's chest, leaving four smeared red lines. Then he leaned in close, and his lips brushed Shikamaru's ear. "I can see your pulse racing in your throat. I can feel you struggling to control your breathing. Your mind—that brilliant, nimble, extraordinary mind—isn't much use to you right now, is it?" Gaara's tongue traced the rim of his ear. "You can't focus your thoughts at all, not when you're overwhelmed with pain and fear. You're so helpless." His hot breath puffed against Shikamaru's neck. Slender, hard fingers slid over his nape, into his hair. "I think I like you this way."

Shikamaru closed his eyes. "Please…don't…I…"

"Keep your eyes open." Gaara gripped his chin. "I want you to look at me. Only me."

Shikamaru looked up. He was trembling. He couldn't stop.

"That's better." Bloody fingers stroked Shikamaru's face, his neck. "I've wanted you at my mercy ever since we met you. But _he _wouldn't let me play with you. He wanted you all to himself. Well, he can't stop me now. I've shoved him down deep into his subconscious, where your voice can't reach him."

"Please…" His voice trembled. "Please untie me, Gaara."

His eyes narrowed. "Stop calling me that. I'm _not _him. I'm stronger than he is. We just share head-space." He stared down at Shikamaru, his smile like a gleaming scythe. "Do you have any idea what it's like being stuck in the same body as that self-hating little faggot? He's always crying inside. All those years, I couldn't do anything except watch from behind his eyes, listening to him cry."

"There's no 'him.' It's just you. You're him."

Rage flashed in those green eyes. "Stop it." He wrapped his hand around Shikamaru's throat. A strong thumb pressed against his trachea. "I could crush your throat right now."

Shikamaru stared into those wild, bloodshot eyes. And in an instant, all his fear and pain drifted away, leaving his head strangely clear. "I love you," he whispered hoarsely. "I love you more than you'll ever know."

"Shut up," that deep voice growled. The pressure on his trachea increased, and his head swam, but still, he clung grimly to consciousness. "You don't love him. You just love fucking him. _I _know the truth, because I'm strong enough to face it. There's no love—just people using and being used. Gaara…" He spat out the name. "…likes feeling your cock inside him because it means you need him, even if it's just physical. And as long as you need him, you won't throw him out. That's all. That's why he begs for you to fuck him and guzzles up your come like the disgusting little whore he is. He calls it love, but love has nothing to do with it. It's a lie."

"You're not a whore. And love isn't a lie. I love you."

Gaara released his throat and took a step back. He trembled; his face contorted, as if Shikamaru's words caused him physical pain. "No."

"I know it's hard for you to believe that someone could really love you. I know you've been hurt and betrayed a lot, and I know you feel like you're fated to be alone. But that isn't true. I really…truly love you. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I never knew what real happiness was until I met you…I never realized how empty I was without you…"

"_Shut up!"_

"Even if you're really a demon from hell, I don't care. I still love you. I can't help it. And even if I die now, my life will still be better for having met you…because I _understand _now…I…I can't explain it, but I _understand_. It's like I've found some piece of myself that was missing, and now nothing can take that from me, even if I die. I know who I am now. I'm yours."

Gaara bowed his head and clutched handfuls of his hair, breathing hard. "No…no, that's not…" His deep, growling voice broke and wavered, and for a moment it was Gaara's voice again. "I want to believe you..." Then Shukaku's voice: "You can't trust anyone!" Gaara's voice: "I don't want to be alone anymore..." Shukaku's voice: "You're not alone, you have me!" Gaara's voice: "But you're me...I..." He looked up, breathing hard, eyes twitching back and forth. A voice somewhere between Gaara's and Shukaku's whispered, "I won't let it happen again. I won't be shattered again."

"I won't be like Yashamaru. I won't hurt you like that. I swear it."

"No!" Shukaku's voice roared. Gaara's head snapped to one side, then the other. His fingers, buried in his hair, trembled. "You're lying! Admit it or I'll rip you apart!"

"I'm not lying. I'll do anything to prove it to you." Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. "Just believe me. Please. There's nothing I want more than for you to believe that I love you."

Gaara sobbed and fell to his knees. "Shikamaru…" He crawled toward him. He reached out a trembling hand. "I...I believe you." He raised his tearstained face to Shikamaru's. Then he rose and kissed Shikamaru's lips. His mouth tasted like blood.

Shikamaru couldn't hold on anymore. He slid into darkness.

-To be continued


	19. Chapter 19

Whiteness whirled around him. A snowstorm, he thought. The soft, thick snow blotted out everything: all he could see was white. But strangely, he didn't feel cold.

Something furry and black emerged from the whiteness. A smile touched Shikamaru's lips. It was Shadow, his dog. The big black Lab wagged his tail and panted, his breath steaming in the cold air.

But something was wrong. Shadow shouldn't be here right now. After a moment, it came to him. Shadow was dead. He'd been dead for years.

_And it's my fault._

He recalled taking Shadow for a walk in a sunlit wooded area. There they were, painted in the muddy pastels of memory: a big, bounding dog who strained against his collar with all his might, panting after every squirrel and rabbit…and Shikamaru, a skinny twelve-year-old wearing some ironic t-shirt and old jeans, his teeth clenched, holding the leash with both hands as Shadow dragged him along. _Troublesome, _he muttered. _Stop pulling so hard! _But Shadow wouldn't stop, and finally, with a cry of exasperation, Shikamaru let him go—_Fine, run if you want to run!_

So Shadow ran far and fast through the woods. And Shadow got into a badger's den, and the badger bit him. And Shadow got rabies.

_My fault._

As he watched, the black, panting form dissolved into nothingness, dissolved into the white.

Snow fell thick and fast all around. It had been snowing that day, too: the day they buried Shadow's ashes in the yard. Shikamaru had stood over the little makeshift grave, choking back tears, trying to be a man and hating it.

He'd told his parents how it happened. Except he'd told them that Shadow yanked the leash out of his hand. He was too ashamed to admit that he'd let go on purpose.

The snow covered Shikamaru, blanketed and buried him. Fine, he thought. He would sink into the nothing. He would become a part of it. Being nothing was better than being a useless coward who let go of those he loved because holding on was too much work. Maybe he didn't deserve to _be _at all. He closed his eyes.

Then a thought came to him: _Where is Gaara?_

* * *

His eyes snapped open. Something was beeping.

He tried to lift his hand, to turn off the alarm clock, but his arm wouldn't obey him. He pried his eyes open a crack and found himself looking at his arm on white bed sheets. Then he realized the beeping wasn't his alarm clock. He wasn't in his apartment at all.

He tried to sit up, and pain flared through his leg. A choked, gasping cry escaped his throat.

"Easy." Hands pushed him back down to the bed.

Shikamaru blinked and looked up. "Dad?" Dazed, he looked around. He was in a small, white hospital room. Somewhere, something—a heart monitor, maybe—was beeping.

_What…why… _Then a rush of memories slammed into his brain. He sat up again, ignoring the pain. "Gaara, where is Gaara?"

"He's safe. He's being treated right now, but none of his injuries are serious. Just relax." His father lay one broad, rough palm against his forehead. The touch calmed him.

Shikamaru swallowed. His mouth and throat ached with thirst. His dad handed him a small plastic cup filled with water, and he drank. "What happened?" Shikamaru asked quietly. "I…I don't remember getting here. I was in that basement, and then…"

"Your friend called an ambulance, and they brought you here and stitched up your leg. You don't remember any of it because you were unconscious." He paused. "The police are going to be here in a few minutes. They'll want to ask you questions about those two men. Do you think you're up for it? If you're not, they can come back another time."

"I…"

"Shikamaru!"

He looked up as his mother entered the room, eyes wide. She started to approach him, then stopped. She just stared at him, pale as a sheet, her lips trembling slightly.

"Hi, Mom," he said, and forced a tiny smile.

She took another step closer, then another. "Are you…"

"I'm okay. About as well as can be expected, anyway."

Two tears spilled down her cheeks. She bent and hugged him tight. "My baby," she whispered. "I was so afraid…when I heard, I…" She hugged him tighter for a moment, shaking. "I would die if I lost you. Do you know that?"

Warmth rose into his cheeks. He wrapped his arms around her and awkwardly hugged her back. After a moment, she pulled back, and her eyes anxiously searched his face. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine, really. My leg doesn't even hurt that much. But then, they've probably got me pumped full of painkillers. Did the doctors say how bad it was?"

"You'll have to keep off it for awhile, obviously, and you'll need some physical therapy," his dad said. "But they think you'll make a full recovery…"

Just then, the door opened. Shikamaru looked up, and his heartbeat quickened. Gaara stood in the doorway, clad in white hospital clothes. A cut on his brow had been bandaged; more bandages dappled his arms, which were mottled with bruises. "Gaara," Shikamaru whispered.

Wide blue-green eyes gazed into his. "Shikamaru."

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Then Shikamaru sat up and said, "Mom, Dad, this is Gaara--my boyfriend." Amazing, how easily those words came from his mouth. Being kidnapped and tortured put things into perspective, he supposed.

His mom blinked, and her brow furrowed. "Your…" She looked from Gaara to Shikamaru and back again, her eyes clouded with puzzlement. "Your boyfriend?"

"Yes. We've been living together for awhile now." Shikamaru stretched out a hand. Gaara approached and took it, and Shikamaru squeezed his hand firmly.

His mother's eyes widened. She turned and stared at his dad, who gave her a smile and a small shrug. She took a deep, shaky breath. Then she extended a hand and said, "I'm Yoshino Nara, Shikamaru's mother. Pleased to meet you."

Gaara hesitated, then reached out and shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

* * *

Shortly after, a policewoman arrived in Shikamaru's hospital room and introduced herself as Officer Tsunade. "I just have a few questions to ask you about what happened," she said. Then—to the three other people in the room—"I'd prefer that he and I be alone for this, just to minimize distractions. You can wait just outside if you like."

Once she was alone with Shikamaru, Tsunade pulled up a chair and sat. "I know you're probably not in the mood to talk right now, and I don't want to cause you any unnecessary distress, but I'd prefer to ask you these questions while the events are still fresh in your memory. Do you think you're up to it?"

"Yeah," he said. Might as well get this over with. "Go ahead."

"The two men who kidnapped you were both wanted killers. Hitmen. You're aware of that?"

"Yeah."

"Can you think of any reason why someone might have wanted you and your friend dead?"

Shikamaru hesitated. His chest tightened. He didn't want Gaara getting in trouble over this.

She must have seen the conflict on his face. "Believe me, this will be easier for everyone involved if you're honest with me. I don't believe that you or your friend have anything to worry about as far as legal repercussions. Those men who kidnapped you were responsible for over thirty known murders—including several police officers—and you and your friend both had marks of physical torture on your body when you were found. It's clear to me that you acted in self-defense. So please, just describe the events to me."

Shikamaru took a deep breath and nodded. He told her everything, starting with the three homophobes who'd attacked Gaara and him by the canal and the fight that followed. He told her how Gaara had disappeared, how Hidan and Kakuzu had found Shikamaru by the roadside and picked him up. Tsunade listened and took notes.

When he got to the part about how Hidan had shot the policewoman, a lump rose into his throat and he started to shake. It became harder and harder to keep his tone steady. At one point, he started to cry, and Tsunade waited quietly—respectfully—until he'd gotten a hold of himself again. He mopped his face with a handful of tissues and finished relating the events, ending with the moment he'd woken in the hospital. "And that's it, I guess."

Tsunade stood. "Thank you. Can I contact you if I have any more questions?"

"Yes." He gave her his number, then asked, "that guy, the one who hired Hidan and Kakuzu…where is he?"

"He fled the scene before the ambulance arrived. But we'll find him, I'm certain of that. We already have a few leads. Thank you for your time, Mr. Nara."

* * *

Shikamaru left the hospital later that day. His parents insisted that he spend the next few days with them. He would have preferred to go back to his apartment, where he could be alone with Gaara, but—not wanting to argue—he agreed…under the condition that Gaara be allowed to stay there with him. After nearly losing the love of his life, he was not inclined to let go of him again so easily.

His parents drove him back to their place, and he spent the next three days in his old room with the TV set up at the foot of his bed, being waited on hand and foot by his mother—who asked him in the softest, gentlest tones if there was anything special he wanted to eat, any movies he wanted to see, or if there was anything else she could do for him, anything at all. His father had always told him that she had a tender side, but he'd never quite believed it until now.

His friends all took turns visiting him. Ino (who was now on dialysis and awaiting a kidney transplant) sent him a bouquet of lilies and a get-well card. Chouji brought him a vintage NES system and a bunch of game cartridges to keep him occupied during his recovery...along with a stack of tapes he'd gotten off of E-Bay. "These are the worst movies I could find," he said. "_Plan 9 From Outer Space, Deathstalker, _the MST3K version of _Manos, the Hands of Fate..._that one is hilarious...oh, and in case you're in the mood for something that's actually good, I brought _Inherit the Wind _and _Being John Malcovich _too."

Shikamaru grinned. "Thanks, Chouji."

Naruto brought him a jumbo-sized box of ramen and a huge basket of candy.

All in all, Shikamaru thought it was entirely too much fuss over an injury that would probably heal completely within a few months. He might be limping about on crutches for awhile, but it wasn't like he was crippled for life or anything.

Gaara spent the entire time by his side, usually curled up in bed with him, his head on Shikamaru's shoulder. They watched TV together, but the images on the screen held no meaning for Shikamaru; his entire consciousness was focused on the warm, soft bundle of Gaara in his arms.

Late one night, as they lay dozing in each other's embrace, Shikamaru asked quietly, "What happened to Shukaku?"

"I absorbed him," Gaara said. "That's all."

A chill prickled up Shikamaru's spine. "Then he's a part of you now?"

"He was always a part of me. You're the one who taught me that. I just broke down the wall in my mind that separated him from the rest of me." He paused. "It hasn't been easy. There was so much anger behind that wall. So much hate. Letting all that flow into the rest of my mind was like swallowing a cup full of pus and sewer-water. But now that it's _there, _maybe I can deal with it. At any rate, I don't think the monster will come out anymore."

He pushed his fingers into Gaara's shaggy red hair and rubbed his scalp. "How do you feel?" he asked quietly. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. That's a hard question to answer. I'm hurting and confused and tangled up in knots, but that's nothing new. And in spite of everything, I feel…relieved. Like I've been carrying a heavy weight for years and I finally put it down. I'll probably still have nightmares. I'll probably still have trouble sleeping, and cry out for you in the night when it becomes too much for me to bear on my own. But…for the first time, I feel like I can exist and live in spite of all that. I feel like living is _worth _the pain."

Shikamaru listened, and his father's voice echoed in his memory: _Some injuries don't heal. They just become a part of you. _Maybe true healing, he thought, was not an absence of pain, but the ability to accept and transcend it. His arms tightened around Gaara, and he kissed the corner of his mouth. "Thanksgiving is coming up pretty soon," he said quietly. "You still want to have dinner with us?"

"Yes." He gazed into Shikamaru's eyes and touched his cheek. "Are _you _all right, Shika? You endured worse than I did in that room."

He forced a smile. "I'll be okay."

Gaara frowned, his eyes filled with concern. He framed Shikamaru's face between his hands and—with a serious expression—leaned forward to kiss his brow, as if to kiss away the memory of that whole horrible night. Shikamaru's throat tightened and tears blurred his vision. He thought about the blood and brains spraying out the back of the policewoman's head as Hidan pulled the trigger.

"Shikamaru?"

He buried his face in the warm hollow between Gaara's neck and shoulder. His shoulders trembled, and his face contorted as he choked back tears.

Gaara stroked his hair. "Let it out," he whispered.

The dam inside him burst. Raw, animal sobs poured out of him. Gaara held him, rocked him and murmured words of comfort in his ear, but the tears kept coming. Shikamaru bawled like a child, in a way he hadn't allowed himself to do for a long time, and when the storm finally passed, he lay limp in Gaara's arms, feeling exhausted and heart-sore but strangely peaceful, strangely clean...as if all the gunk in his soul had been scraped out.

After awhile, he drifted off into a gentle, dreamless sleep.

* * *

After another few days at his parents' house, they returned to Shikamaru's apartment and more or less resumed their normal routine, except that Shikamaru still couldn't walk without a crutch. Gaara started seeing a psychologist—a soft-spoken, dark-haired woman named Dr. Kurenai—once a week. Chouji was still seeing Ino, who was still spending a lot of time in the hospital. In spite of that, she seemed to be in good spirits whenever Shikamaru saw her.

"I feel like I finally _get _it," she told him during one of these visits. "Like I've finally figured out what matters. I'm just sorry that it took me this long."

On Thanksgiving, all of them—Shikamaru, Gaara, Chouji and Ino—piled into the Volvo and drove to Shikamaru's parents' house for dinner. They had ham and sweet potato casserole with corn on the cob, and peach cobbler with ice cream for dessert.

Shikamaru watched as his mother set a pot of coffee on the table, along with two small dishes of cream and sugar. He still wasn't sure how she felt about his relationship with Gaara. Maybe she was saving that talk for after Shikamaru recovered from his injury—but for now, she seemed to be taking it in stride. Maybe having her only son kidnapped and hospitalized had put things into perspective for her, too; after something like that, making a fuss about his chosen mate would have seemed absurd. Or maybe he'd misread her all along and she had nothing against gay relationships. In any case, he was relieved.

Shikamaru held Gaara's hand under the table and stroked the palm with his thumb.

After pie and coffee, they all played Scrabble. It was almost 10:00 when the four of them finally left. They drove Ino back home, then returned to their own apartment. It had started to snow in soft, damp flakes—the first snow of the year.

* * *

Shikamaru and Gaara fell asleep cuddled up under the covers. Around 5:00 am, Shikamaru woke moaning, his leg throbbing. The pain felt like shards of hot glass embedded in his thigh muscles.

"Shikamaru?" Warm fingers stroked his cheek in the darkness.

"Just my leg acting up," he murmured. "Sorry to wake you."

"It's okay. I'll get your pain meds." Gaara climbed out of bed and returned a moment later with a full glass in one hand and two pills in the other. He placed the pills on Shikamaru's tongue, and Shikamaru downed them with a gulp of water.

"Thanks," he murmured and rubbed his thigh. "I don't know why it's hurting all of a sudden. Might be the weather." He lay in bed for a few minutes, Gaara's head resting on his shoulder. Soon the painkillers started to do their work, and the throbbing died down to a muffled ache. He gazed out the window and saw the trees blanketed with a paper-thin layer of snow. Dawn light spread across the sky, tinting the clouds pink and soft lavender. Shikamaru reached out and took Gaara's hand, and Gaara squeezed it tight.

"What do you see?" Shikamaru asked him, pointing out the window at the sky.

"Pink clouds."

"I mean what do they look like to you?"

Gaara stared for almost a full minute. Then pointed and said, "That one looks like a tree. A little."

Shikamaru smiled. It was a start. He stared up at the clouds. "Hmm…that one looks like you."

"You see a lot of clouds that look like me."

"Yeah, I guess I do." He turned his head and saw Gaara gazing at him, his blue-green eyes soft and heavy-lidded. "Gaara…"

"I love you," he said.

Shikamaru pulled Gaara into his arms and held his head to his chest. He tried to speak, but a lump rose into his throat, cutting off his voice. His fingers wandered through Gaara's silky, sunset-red hair, smoothing errant strands into place. Gaara looked up at him, and Shikamaru brushed his thumb lightly against that smooth, pale cheek. Such soft skin. There were moments when this boy in his arms seemed too perfect to be real. Shikamaru's tear-ducts prickled, and liquid warmth welled up.

"Why are you crying?"

"Because you're so beautiful, sometimes it makes me ache just to look at you. And sometimes it feels like my heart is going to break because it's not big enough to hold all this love. I never realized it was possible to feel this much for someone. I never really believed in the idea of soulmates, but when I look at you, I can't imagine myself with anyone else. I can't imagine living without you now. I…I can't even put it into words, what you do to me. Sometimes it scares me, it's so strong. There are moments when I'm watching you sleep and I'm so overwhelmed with love, I start shaking and my heart starts pounding, and I just want to grab you and hold you tight and never let go. It's almost too much. But I wouldn't trade it for anything. I don't want to go back to the way I was before I met you. I can't." Shikamaru paused and took a deep breath. "I guess that's a really long way of saying 'I love you, too.'"

Gaara looked at him with wonder. One finger touched a tear on Shikamaru's cheek. Then he framed Shikamaru's face between his hands and kissed him gently. Those warm hands wandered over his body, caressing him, pulling him closer.

They could not make love in the usual way, not with Shikamaru's leg still healing, but they found a quiet bliss under the blankets; hands, mouths, and the friction of soft skin against hard flesh was—in its way—as sweet, intense and intimate as penetration. Afterward, they lay panting softly together, feeling each other's heartbeats gradually slow as their sweat cooled in the early morning air.

After a long silence (during which he slipped in and out of a light doze), Shikamaru said, "I'm getting hungry. You want breakfast soon?"

"Can we have pancakes?"

"Sure."

"Shikamaru…"

"Yeah?"

Gaara paused, looking into his eyes. "I'm happy. I mean…really, truly. For the first time in my life. I'm happy."

Shikamaru hugged him close. "I'm glad," he whispered. "You deserve to be happy."

"Before I met you, the world was dark and cold. Now it's filled with light. How did you do that?"

"I don't know." He held Gaara a moment longer, resting his chin on that warm, sweet-smelling hair. "I don't really know anything about anything. Sometimes I'm still not sure who I am or why I exist. But maybe that's okay. Maybe it's enough just to be here. To be with you."

Gaara smiled, his green eyes half-lidded and filled with drowsy bliss. "I know who you are. You're Shikamaru Nara. You're kind and clever and brave and wonderful. And you're mine, and I love you, and I always, always will."

Shikamaru hugged him tighter. Morning sunlight crept in through the window and across the room, bathing Gaara's face, transforming him into an angel. Motes glimmered like fairy-dust in the air, and Shikamaru knew without a doubt that this image--this moment--would be imprinted in his memory until the day he died. In that moment he _did _understand: life, the universe, free will and destiny, time and eternity, God, love and all the rest. It was all there, in Gaara's eyes.

-The End


End file.
